Girl, I Need You
by a nyr byrjun
Summary: Can Bella learn to love Jacob, even after he has kidnapped her? Dominant/Possessive Jacob. For mature audiences only, rape involved. Warning: This story does include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.
1. I Need You

**A/N: I've decided to post this story back up. I just want to say I never not wanted to continue this story, it's just that sometimes it gets hard to write when there is so much negativity that surrounds something so personal such as one's writing. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Warning: This and many other chapters of this story include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.**

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><p>I do not hear anything or see through the darkness of the room. I am blind and my ears strain. Not a sound or squeak. Only breathing, but it is my own, shallow, my lungs collapsing in my chest. My nails bite into my palms, and my eyes tear, but not from the pain, but the unknown. <em>Who is there? And where have they taken me?<em>

I am huddled somewhere remotely small, and I can feel the closeness of walls, but when I outstretch my hands to feel something, there is only air.I am too frightened to move, for I am afraid if I do, something will come out of the dark, and...

I hear a small sound, and I set the outline of a door, light coming from behind the wood, slipping in through the creaks. Someone is moving, and walking, and then the knob turns.

I move back as fast as I can, my hands sliding along the splintered edges of the wooden floorboard, I cannot breathe. A man's head pokes through the open door, and is eyes search the bed alongside the wall across from me. His eyes move from the crumpled sheets, the paint-chipped walls, and then his eyes finally land on me. Huddled, with tears brimming, salty and dripping under my nose. My throat feels tight, and I cannot swallow, my saliva collecting on my tongue. But still it's dry with fright.

"Now, now. It's alright," his voice sounds familiar, but still I keep my distance, my thighs sliding on the waxy wood, the flimsy slip I had fallen asleep in what only seemed moments before, creeping close to the frilly end of my underwear.

He leaves the door open, the light from the hallway illuminating the small room, hand dropping from the doorknob. His shoes make a shuffling noise as he comes inside.

I shiver and begin to feel my stomach tighten, my mouth closing up but not before I sob the closer he gets. 'P-please, don't hurt me."

He stops walking, only for a slight moment before he continues with his steps, and soon I have nowhere to go. I'm trapped, a wall on one side, and a strange, faceless man whose identity is still hidden by the deep shadow of the corner of where I'm sitting.

"Now, why would I hurt you sweetheart?" He crouches down, and his knee is next to my thigh. He's so close now, I can't help the spasms that work through my body. He makes a sound that tells me to stop, and I still don't meet his eyes.

I stare at the chafed leather of his shoes, and the ripped hem of his jeans, blinking away the tears that blind me. "It's alright, you're here with me now," and with that, I feel his thumb rub away the tear that slides down my cheek, and then he tilts my face up by the jaw, before he slides his hand down slowly from my neck to my collarbone.

His eyes startle me. One of them is blue, and the other brown. I hold them with my own, and he takes the moment to search mine, and I see a hint of a smile on his lips. He licks them, and his eyes flicker to mine before back to my eyes.

"Bella," he whispers, and I feel his long fingers in my hair, stroking, and slipping through the roots, his nails at my scalp. "Don't you remember me?"

I don't. And I'm not sure if I'm suppose to. His voice, although, stirs something inside of me that does not agree with the slight movement of my head meant to say no. He frowns, and his hand tightens at the nape of my neck, only for a moment, and then he nods looking down at my calves.

He brushes the skin there softly, and then forms a grip around my ankle. "That's alright." I tense feeling the edge in his voice and I reach up to touch his wrist, taking his hand away from my hair.

"Have w-we met before?" I sound quiet, small, unlike myself. Trembling, but I try to still my motions, my chest feeling like it's going to cave in from the weight of the silence.

He doesn't answer, instead looks into my eyes, and his lips are bitten closed. He's holding himself back, for whatever reason, breathing through his nose slowly.

His look kills me. He is angry, and I do not know what I said. This isn't good, but I can't help but think he is acting irrationally._ Well of course, isn't he a kidnapper?_ "Of course you wouldn't notice me with him standing there."

I don't know what he's talking about. Or who. Or where we could have both been or met. His cryptic words leave me more scared, thinking he has me confused with someone else, but there is no one else in Forks named Bella. And when he looked at me, he was certain I was who he wanted.

"I don't understand." But I don't need to. He has shut down. The intensity in his eyes burn, and they send a rush through my body, my words starting to catch in my throat as I open my mouth.

"I shouldn't have snapped. I'm sorry." he whispers and before I know it, his mouth is on my neck, and he breathes heavily, the sound of it escaping his mouth, tickling my ear. His arms are around me, and I am more confused than ever.

I'm not sure if I'm scared, or simply being more cautious as I try to return his touch, as though not to anger him. "It's okay."

* * *

><p>I am cold, and he senses this and moves to stand, pulling me up from underneath my arms. The door is open, and I can see the light in the hallway, yellow and flickering. His hands leave my arms, and he starts toward the hallway, muttering while tapping the single light bulb that hangsuntil it stops flickering, and stays with solid light.<p>

I pull down my slip, what little of it I can, and try to smooth out the wrinkles that cover my stomach from bending to sit. I look only to the floor and I am not sure of what to do. _Should I run?_ But when I feel him come to my side again, I know it is not wise to risk an escape. There's no way that I can beat a man that has a solid hundred pounds on me. I will not be stupid when I finally manage to slip away.

He tilts my head, and brushes my bangs from my eyes, his warm hands coming up under my neck. "Would you like to bathe?"

I shake my head no, although, surely I would. But I can't. I do not want to remove my clothing not with this stranger in such close range, that might do horrific things to me if I did. I cannot tempt him, what I need to do is get out of here.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be in this bedroom the whole time, and you can lock the door if that's what you're worried about." His eyes are honest, and there is something that looks like hurt within them, but I can't feel sorry for him, at least not much more. I already feel sorry, with what terrible conditions he is living in, everything worn down and barely living in the old house.

I am not sure if I should accept the offer, and know instantly before I go into the bathroom, that there are no windows. He knows that I am not to be trusted, and when I turn to ask him for clothes, he sets them on the countertop without a word.

They are nothing that will fit me, but his. There is a simple black tee, that is long enough to cover well past my thighs, and a pair of cotton underwear that look strangely similar. And when I touch them, I realize, they are mine.

Pink, and covered with ice cream cones. I feel tears prickle at my eyes and lean to turn the shower on, knowing, he must have been inside my house, picking through my personal items without a care. The realization that there was an obvious plan to bring me to his home, kills me. He closes the door, and he does lock it, and I feel much safer with the distance when I hear the click.

I stir, lifting the the thin slip up and over my head, and let it fall into a heap at my feet, along with my underwear, no bra. The water is hot, and there is a humble piece of soap in a dish on the ledge.

I step inside, the water working into my ankles, and lower myself down, the ends of my hair becoming heavy with wet water.

I allow myself to breathe, it's the only thing I can control now, my heart still beating at an erratic rate in my chest. I don't ever think it will calm down. I go to close my eyes, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of something dark.

Under the door there is a tiny space, and I see his shadow, and then hear him slide down the door, imagining him leaning against it.

He does not move the entire time, and he listens to the small splashes of water throughout my bath, and when I am clean, I stand, and dry myself off with the towel that has a few holes near the end.

I pull on my panties and slip into the shirt he has given me, and towel dry my hair, until it falls down my back, still damp.

I step to the door, and knock on it first, and I feel him scramble to his feet, and open the door. I look down, and wrap my arms around my breasts, which I am sure he can see poking through the thin fabric, and step into his bedroom again.

"Do you wanna eat something before we go to bed?" he asks, and I feel his hand, light, on the small of my back, and he is leading me to the bed. I want to run away, but I don't even know where I am, how long I have been here, and if I ran, who else wouldn't do what he was planning to do, watching my run in nothing but a shirt down the vacant and eerily deserted street.

I shake my head no, and find that I cannot speak through my lips. I have lost my voice. It is stuck, and unmoving, in my throat. I hug myself, and the draft creates goosebumps on my legs. "Sure, sweetheart?" he asks, and tells me to get into the bed. He drapes the covers on me, and I cannot look at him. I am trembling. I press my face into the pillow below my head, and wait.

I hear the clank that his belt buckle makes on the floor, and the weight of his jeans. I am not sure if his shirt is off, until he comes behind me, and his arms pull me to his chest. "N-no.."

"Shh, Bella, it's only me. Only me." he says, as if that is going to in any way, calm me down. I start to breathe heavily, and he rubs my back, with one hand, his other holding my stomach.

Up and down, his motions his palm, and it is warm, and his strokes are long down my spine. "I'm here now, baby. I'll make you happy, I'll take care of you." He kisses my head, and moves his hand from my stomach, and strokes my wet hair. "It's all going to be okay."

I fall asleep with him, and when I wake, I hear him, feel his weight dip into the end of the bed, and he is putting his shoes. Leaning to tie the laces, the muscles in his back apparent in his shirt.

I blink my eyes, and rub them, squeezing my legs together, in a stretch. He hears my sigh, and even though I am so tired, and trying to fall back asleep, I feel his hand on my face. "Bella? Wake up, sweetheart."

I shake my head, and pull the blanket over my face, ignoring him. _No,_ I want this to be a dream. _Why is he still there?_

But it is not, it's real. I feel his hand, cold compared to my heat, slip onto my thigh, and squeeze under the blanket. I immediately pull away, sitting up against the pillows.

He stares at me, his lips in a smirk, and his eyes, one blue and one brown, looked humored. "Now that you're up, get dressed. I'm making breakfast."

I stare at him, I am not sure how to approach anything he just said. _Are we going to play at normal now?_

"B-but." He shakes his head, and pulls the blankets from me, and I try to cover myself, but he just pulls me up. I'm standing, looking up into his eyes, transfixed.

"No buts, I got some of your clothes in the drawer." I shiver, and have no choice but to listen to him. I don't want to, but I am hoping that since he has some of my clothing, that maybe I'll be able to find a bra among all the other things. I feel uncomfortable with his eyes being able to see everything.

"That's a good girl," I hear him whisper, and his hand strokes the back of my hair.

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><p>It looks like he took my whole closest, and my bookshelf. And me. How did he manage without waking the neighbors?<em> He waited.<em> Charlie wasn't home. Then he snatched me up, and took me somewhere no one would look.

He lives on a farm. Alone. My heart drops when he leads me down the stairs, his hand tightly holding mine, and I cannot let go. Through the window, all I see is land. Dry, dead land. Nothing. No one. Anything. Can't help me.

Even if I ran, _there's no where to run to._

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><p>I keep my eyes on the scratched table, and my fork pushes the food around my plate idly, back and forth. I am hungry, but I cannot will myself to eat. I just want to crawl into a hole, and stay there, in the dark, and never wake up again.<p>

He notices my mood. He does not say anything. But continues to eat his eggs, and sip back some orange juice. I watch his Adams apple as he swallows, and I notice, now more than last night, the color of his skin.

He is tan, and his hair is inky black, short, but still with length. He catches my eye, and I blush, looking down back at my plate, and try to eat a piece of sausage without looking back at him.

I don't think I can handle that I am now alone with this man, and it will be a long time before there is ever a chance of leaving.

I feel his hand on mine, and he squeezes my fingers.

I am trapped.

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><p>"You know I don't know your name," I whisper, and feel him scoot closer to me, his wooden chair scraping against the flooring. He takes the fork from my hand, and I don't flinch away. He pokes my eggs and tells me to open my mouth.<p>

This stranger is feeding me. Taking his time, and watching me open and close my mouth as if I am a child, and cannot do such a simple task myself.

"Jacob," he says finally after the plate is almost cleared. My toast has only one bite mark of mine, but he doesn't make me finish it. Instead he brings his mouth to where I have bite off a small piece off the edge, and does the same.

He licks his lips of any remaining feel of butter, and stands, clearing our plates. I squeeze my hands together in my lap, pressing them between my thighs, and listen to the beginning sounds of chirping in the distance.

Birds, awake, and making noise, signaling that the day has begun.

I do not offer to wash the dishes, and he does not ask me to. I sit in the chair, looking down at the wood in front of me that is the table, and follow the places where it begins to turn a dark color, and swirls again into a light mahogany.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he is quiet, thinking, the same as I. He says nothing, and I wait until I hear the tap being turned off to look up at him. He's a good head taller than Charlie, and then some.

I watch his dry his hands off on a dingy towel, and this his brings his cuffs down over his wrists.

"Come on, let's go outside." The word drops of his tongue so easily. Is it because he knows, there is only land? And running is not going to help, he would surely catch me before I ever found the end of land and into civilization.

I do not stand, in fact, he has to pull my arm to get a reaction from me. "Stop! I don't want to go anywhere with you!" I scream, and pull my arm out of his grasp, and feel myself start to run upstairs, hearing his heavy footsteps behind me.

"Bella! Get back here right now!" I don't stop, I stumble once, and land on my knee, the step sending a shooting pain through my leg. I start to crawl up and jog with a limp to the bedroom, and close the door with a slam. I sit against the door, and somehow try to figure out how to lock the door.

Unlike the bathroom, this is not a click lock door, but one where you need a key to open and close the room. I feel myself pull at my hair, and I start to sob. No. _No, this is not happening._ Nothing like this ever happens in Forks, if that's where I even am right now.

"Bella!" He throws his fist, hard and sudden against the door, and I try to push my whole body weight to keep the door from opening, the knob turning near my head.

His voice is scaring me. Everything is too loud, and too fast. I start to scream, and press my legs to my body, rocking back and forth. "If you don't open this door right now-"

I am not as strong as I think I am. I move away from the door, and wipe at my eyes with my hands, and I do not tell him it's open. He flings the door to the wall, and it hits it, making a sound that tells me it's cheap wood.

"Bella," I drops to his knees in front of me, and I feel his hand on my leg, and I whimper. "Honey, stop it." I don't though, his hand is putting too much pressure where it hurts, and I jump.

I push his hand away, my bangs falling in my eyes, but he takes this as pushing him away, fighting him. But I'm not, I have surrendered. He looks angry, and he takes my legs and pulls them toward him, and my back falls against the flat carpet.

"J-Jake stop, please.._it hurts_..my leg hurts," I gasp, and try to pull my right knee away from him. His discolored eyes soften, and his face changes. He reaches for me, and lifts my hand from my leg, and presses against it with his fingers, feeling the tender spot.

I squeeze my eyes, and the tears now flow freely down my cheeks. "Shh, sweetheart. I've got you." And with that, he does have me, in his arms, and I reach around to hold his neck to steady myself, and he pulls the sheets away and lays me on the bed.

I feel his fingers creeps down my stomach, and he undos the button of my jeans. I tense, and he looks into my eyes, but I do not dare say anything.

He pulls them slowly down my hips, and the pink ice cream cones peak out, and then I am cold. When my jeans are over my knee, I squeeze my eyes, and I hear him say, "I think you've sprained your knee."

He takes the cream, that is not really a cream, but more of a vaseline texture, and rubs it over the skin of my kneecap with his hands, slowly, over and over, making circles with his thumbs, and my hands pull at the sheets.

Everytime he goes over the bump, I tense, and try to pull my leg away, but he holds on to it tightly and shakes his head no. He's not letting me get away. He wants me safe, and better, in his bed.

I am not sure if he is angry at me, or disappointed at my behavior. "You shouldn't have done that, Bella."

_You shouldn't have taken me._

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><p>I lay, and let him prop my leg on a pillow. There is an ace bandage wrapped around my knee, stuck to my skin with whatever medicine Jacob put on it. The smell of it burns the inside my nose.<p>

It doesn't bother him. I even ask him, and he just shakes his head. How can it not? I'm about to choke. I breathe in the fumes, and it leaves an unpleasant numbing sensation in the back of my throat.

But I don't say anything. There is nothing that can make it go away. I'm in a room with no windows, or fresh air. I stare at the ceiling, at the off white paint, cracking and leaving lines of damage in the corners.

"Does it hurt that much anymore?" He asks, and kneels on the bed, tucking me in the bed with the soft worn blanket, fixing the edges so they are snug and holding me.

"N-no," my voice is still thick from crying, and I am telling the truth. It's not hurting like it was before. Now it's dull ache, and only if I am too sudden in my movements does it throb against the tightness of the beige bandage.

"I hope I didn't scare you Bella," he whispers, and I turn to look at him, finding him staring at his hands, wringing them and then placing them back on his knees in frustration.

"It's just that, I can't take the idea of you running from me again," his voice is rough, and I see him staring intently at his shoes. I don't know what to say.

"I won't let you." He turns to face me, and his eyes bore into mine. "If you try something like that again, you'll wind up with something worse than a sprained knee. Do you understand me?"

I nod. I don't have a choice.

I do not know when it is that I finally fall asleep from my emotional exhaustion. But when I wake I feel the covers bring taken away from my left side, and I blink open my eyes, feeling that they are no shape to stay open.

They blink closed again, and I am so tired, I do not even brush him off when I feel his hand feeling at my side, through my thin shirt. "Bella, " he whispers, and his breath is near my lips, I feel him kiss my jaw, and down my neck. "I've waited so long for you."

His hand, that feels of callas, slips under the hem of my shirt, and he is feeling my stomach. His touch is warm, and I shiver, his thumbs stroke just underneath my bellybutton.

But that's as far down as it goes, and he moves it so that he touches my lower back, pulling me to him gently, careful not to disturb my knee. "Jake.."

I lick my chapped lips, and try to open my eyes again when he says,"Shh, let me make you feel good."

His hand moves from my back, and slips through the underside of the elastic of my underwear, and soon his hand palms my heat. I try to move away, but he holds me down, and I see his hair, his face buried in my neck, sucking at my skin.

"No, Bella," he whispers, and lifts his head, to look at me, and his mouth is set in a hard line. I do not have time to respond when I feel his finger push through my lips, and sink deep within me. I open my mouth, and gasp.

"Let me love you."

We have not even kissed yet, and he has made me orgasm. He kisses the side of my face as I come down from my high, sweat beading at my hairline.

His hand is still inside of me, and he does not remove it. I feel the thick hardness of his length press into my hip, and I try to catch my breathing. "Oh, sweetheart, you're so beautiful when you cum."

I cannot say anything back. I feel my face scrunch up, and the feeling of the cold salt of my tears, makes my face itch. I itch everywhere.

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><p>I do not know what day it is, or even if it is day yet. But I know I've been here for many. My leg is almost healed, and I have a slight limp, but it's not that bothersome. Jacob helps me walk to the bathroom, and even into and out of the tub.<p>

Yes, he has seen me naked. But it's has always been against my will. We haven't had full intercourse, but in the evenings, he takes it to himself to pet me. I can't refuse, and I find that sometimes I like it.

He is gentle enough, and takes his time, never being rough with me, only when I pull away. I don't that much anymore, I've learned my lesson from a couple of weeks ago when I did.

When I pulled away and tried to sit up, he forced me over his lap, and pulled down my underwear fully, until it fell below my ankles onto the floor. His hand came down hard, and left a burning pain on my bottom, he didn't stop until I said sorry.

Afterward, he kissed my reddened skin, and told me that it was 'for my own good.' I nodded like I believed him, and let him kiss his way down my body, until his my legs were hoisted over his shoulders, and all I could see between my legs was his head full of black hair.

He didn't stop until I told him that I was his, and only his. When I went to the bathroom after, it burned from where his tongue had been, and my urine was tingled with pink. It hurt so much, I found I couldn't possibly sleep.

* * *

><p>Today, I can walk on my own, and I take my steps down the stairs slowly. This is the second time I have been downstairs since the first morning when I hurt my leg.<p>

Jacob holds my hand tightly, and is ready at any moment, to support me. When my foot is on the floor, and the last step is gone, he kisses me on the lips, his tongue, moving with mine, and he smiles.

His eyes are lighter today, he is excited. He bounces me on his knee, from where I am sitting on his lamp, like I am a little girl, and I open my mouth, taking the piece of pancake gladly into my mouth. The syrup melds with my saliva, and leaves a sweet taste, even after it is swallowed down with milk.

"Today we're going to tend to the stables," he says, and I turn my head toward the window, and stare across the land, and see a small brown shed, with a white rectangle on the front.

"Like horses?" I ask, and give him my empty glass.

"Of course, sweetheart," he says, and when I feel him go to stand, I push my feet on the ground, and find balance by holding onto the edge of the table. He takes the dishes over to the rusty sink, and rinses them, before turning off the tap.

I watch him move over to the door, and take off his black coat from the peg. He stands behind me, and then slides each of my arms through the sleeves. The coat is big, but warm, and I briefly wonder if it's cold enough outside to have to wear a jacket.

The sun is out, and I feel a smile creep at the corners of my mouth. I haven't breathed in fresh air in what feels like forever. He touches my face, and I look up at him, and this time, I stand taller, and go on my tippy toes, and press my lips to his.

His hand threads through my hair, and he holds me there, while his other strokes the side of my neck. He pulls away, and pecks me, once, twice, three times. When he opens his eyes, I cannot look away.

"You're being such a good girl today, aren't you?" He leans his forehead on mine, and then kisses my head before feeling his pocket, for the keys to the front door.

I follow him.

* * *

><p>He holds my hand, and laces his fingers through mine. We do not rush, and I ache from the walk. Jacob is slow, and careful, telling me to keep going. My knee will be alright, that I just need to move it a little.<p>

The wind has a slight chill to it, but it isn't that cold. Jacob wears a light sweater, a blank stripe across the chest. It looks old and worn, but I do not say anything as we get closer to the farmhouse.

He takes the hook on the side of the red door off, and pulls the door open, and his shoes land on limp hay. There are stalls are mostly empty, except for a few who house horses.

I lean into Jacob, and watch as the one closest to me, extends his head. I know I shouldn't be afraid, but I am. Jacob shushes me, and reaches to stroke the horses face, and jaw. "He won't hurt you."

I am not convinced, and I step away, but Jacob takes my hand, and pours some oates into my palm and tells me to feed it. I look at him, unsure of myself, but he nods, and pushes my wrist close to the horses mouth.

He doesn't bite me. Instead the horse makes a snorting sound, and takes the oates from my hand between his teeth, and chews, his mouth moving in a circle motion with his jaw.

Jacob smiles at me, and kisses me on the forehead before putting his arm around my shoulders. "You see, not so scary after all, huh sweetheart?"

I am eager to feed all the horses, and after, I bush their hair. They are calm, and very gentle, although I am a stranger. Jacob watches, and tells me each other their names. The first horse that I feed, which is now my favorite, is named Seth.

While I touch each of the other horses, and run my hands over their necks, Jacob changes the hay from each stall, and puts in a new bowl of water, and fixes up some oates next to it.

I do not even realize that it is well into the afternoon until Jacob wraps his arms around my waist, and whispers in my ear, "Come on sweetheart, we've already missed lunch. Maybe we'll come out tomorrow together."

"Really?" I ask, quiet, but happy. He nods, and returns his coat back on me, from where I had taken it off and hung on the side of one of the stalls.

I whisper goodbye to the horses, even though I know they will not respond. I go to walk out of the farmhouse with Jacob, but when the door is closed, he hooks his arms around my back and knees.

It is a relief to be carried back to the small house. My leg is sore from standing on it for more than a few hours. And in his arms, I nestle my face into his collarbone, and kiss his neck as a sign of appreciation. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Bella."

* * *

><p>Back in the house, he carries me up the stairs, and lowers me to sit on the edge of the bed in our room, where he kneels and takes off my small boots. I unbutton his coat and fold it over my arm, and place it next to me on the bed before I feel his hands holding my stomach.<p>

He lowers them, and unbuttons my pants, and slides them down my bare legs. His hand is a feather touch on my knee cap, and although his touch doesn't hurt, the spot is burning.

He kisses it, and I feel myself run my hands through his hair, unsure of why it is I'm doing so. "Jake.." He doesn't answer me, but continues his path to my thigh.

His hands spreads my legs, and I can't breathe. He takes my thighs in his hands and pulls me until my pelvis is pressed against his stomach. "Lay back, sweetheart."

I move back and lay in the center of the bed, and watch as he crawls toward me on his knees, taking his shirt over his head with one swoop of his arms. I watch the muscles in abdomen stretch and clench back into shape.

My head is lain on a pillow, and my curls are fanned around me on the material. I cannot breathe, _how is this man so beautiful_,_ but at the same time a kidnapper?_

Our eyes lock, and now he is the one taking off my shirt. My bra, black, with lace lining cups my breasts, and opens in the front, the clasp in the middle.

He leans down and kisses me, fisting his hand in my hair, and I feel his nose press against mine, as he turns his face. I hold his forearm, and feel his other hand, so big and warm, cup my breast inside the fragile cup.

I moan against his mouth, feeling the small teaks of his finger on my nipple, and my legs are wrapped around his waist. His belt buckle dips into the beginning of my panties, and I pull away from him this time, struggling to breathe with such little space.

I feel the clasp being pulled, and the cups of holding my breasts fall away, my nipples like rosebuds along my skin. Jacob takes one into his mouth, and swirls his tongue on the sensitive peak, and my legs buckle from the sensation.

"Jake.." I can't help the small gasps that come from me, and when I feel his teeth on close around my flesh, I find myself pushing his head down, somehow trying to keep him there.

His hand travels from my stomach and dips under the hem of the panties. He pulls away from my breast, and suddenly I am bare. "Are you wet for me, sweetheart?" he whispers, and catches my eye.

I blush, and I nod, and I almost don't hear him whisper, "Show me." His voice is weak with need, and I take his hand, that is so much bigger than mine, it's almost overwhelming, and press it against my lips. His finger dips slowly inside, and I whimper when he takes his hand away just when I think he will pleasure me.

I watch fascinated as he takes his hand to his mouth, and licks it, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. When he opens them again, the look in them makes me swallow, licking my lips.

He gives me back his hand, and I guide his fingers back into my heat, and I moan. "Do you want me, baby?" he asks, but he stills his hand. He's teasing me.

"Yes.. please.." He pushes his fingers farther inside, but does not move them. With every breath I take, I feel his fingers so full, engulfed inside me, making my flesh throb and pulse for release.

"Please, what?"

My eyes close, and I am so filled with need I almost do not answer. But I have to. _I want to._ "Please, Jake. Please make me feel good," I use his same words from the first night, but he still takes his fingers out of me, and I feel empty.

I open my mouth to say something but stop when I see him unbuckle his belt, and unzip his jeans, rolling them down his muscular legs, not caring where they fall when they are off of him.

I do not look away from his brown, and blue eyes, and I let him take my hand when he reaches for it. He slips it under the waistband of his blue boxers and it is then that I feel the warmth of his smooth, thick, flesh. It is hard, and throbbing. So big, that at first, I do not think it will fit inside me. "You see how much I want you, baby."

He groans, burying his face into my neck, his teeth biting my skin. I hold him tightly so a moment, and then I begins to more my fingers and palm, back and forth, applying pressure to the leaking head with my thumb. "Bella, stop, I d-don't want to cum, yet."

I still my motions, and wait as he takes off his boxers, and suddenly I feel him, pressing against me, and the feeling, the feeling is _lovely._

His hands hold my face and he says, "I want you to look at me while I make love you." He waits for me to nod, and I do. Our eyes do not leave each other, as he guides himself into my opening, my eyes tearing as he breaks through the soft lining of skin and takes me fully.

I have given him all of me.

* * *

><p>I awake in the same position I am in when I fall asleep. Jacob idly holds my legs around his waist, and his head is in my neck. I lay below him, trying to breathe. I am sore, but as I feel his morning wood pressed against me, I am wanting it again. I want him again.<p>

My hands trace along his spine, softly, and I feel him mutter into my skin, still asleep. I scratch along his scalp, and then feel his soft kiss on my collarbone, as he slowly blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and lifts his head.

"Sweetheart," his voice is thick with sleep. I don't have a chance to respond before, I feel him press up, and into my hilt, filling me whole, and striping me down. I think I smile while he thrusts inside me.

* * *

><p>We make love several times that first morning, and well into the afternoon. I cannot stand by the end of it, and I do not try to after my first attempt. My legs feel like jelly, and Jacob smirks, carrying me over his shoulder, and into the shower.<p>

* * *

><p>He brings up hot chocolate after we finish dinner. Jacob decided to make streak, saying it would give me more strength from the iron, and some baked potatoes to go with it. I lay in bed, snuggling my face into the pillow, wearing nothing more than one of Jacob shirts.<p>

I reflect over the past month, and cannot believe how so much has changed in so little time. It is almost unearthly to think I was sobbing, and turning away from Jacob, and now I had willingly given him my virginity that would always belong to him.

I feel his hand on my stomach, and I hum, asking, "How are the horses?"

"They miss you, they were looking for you today." He kisses my jaw, and I turn toward him looking at his eyes. They are honey melting, but something he has said unsettles me.

"Did you think of that before?" He looks confused at my sharp tone, and says that he doesn't understand. "Did you think of how Charlie would miss me?" I say my father's name, knowing well that Jacob must know who he is is. He is the chief of police after all.

"Sweetheart, calm down."

"No! Why did you do it?" I ask, pressing my hands onto the mattress, sitting up, I do not turn away from him. I stare straight into his eyes, and watch as his mouth tightens. How could he have done this to me, manipulated me into thinking that we could ever be more than the kidnapper and captive?

He answers by simply saying, "I wanted you."

"You didn't let me decide."

"If I hadn't taken you, you would have never given me a chance!" He screams into my face, his skin turning red, and his chest heaving. I feel my resolve softening, and my lip trembles.

I don't argue with him, but instead turn away, putting my head down on the pillow. And for his benefit, I say, "You could have tried some other w-way."

"Would you have really said 'yes' if I asked you on a date? Huh? Don't lie to me. I know you better than you know yourself." His voice mocks me, and I bite my lip, trying hard not to cry. He is tormenting me, and he doesn't stop.

"You were too busy obsessing over Edward Cullen to even notice me. Do you remember now?" He asks, but does not let me say anything. I feel him leaning over me, wanting to make me cry, "Do you remember when you had knocked into me, and dropped everything that you were holding? I helped you, and you didn't even spare me a glance. Too busy checking a text he sent you."

He spits his words, and I feel smaller than I have ever felt. I try to stop my crying, holding my hand over my mouth. "But guess what, you're never going to see him again. You're never going to leave, you'll always be mine."

He takes me then. And all I feel is pain. He holds me down by my wrists, his hands gripping so tightly, they leave red marks. I don't try to struggle, but I can't help myself from sobbing.

He thrusts, sitting on his knees, and moves his hips, back and forth, his eyes closed, his mouth open as if he was in pain. And he's groaning, moaning, feeling me wrapped around him, pulling him deeper.

When he cums, his hands loosen on my arms, he leans down, still inside me, and sobs into my chest. I do not console him, as he whispers, "I'm sorry," over and over, until his voice is scratchy. It breaks, and when he whispers that he loves me, I turn away, feeling his seed slide down my thighs.

I will not forgive him.

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><p><strong>AN: Please leave a review, I worked really hard on this, and would love to know what you think of it.**


	2. Hook and Line

**A/N: I really can't update how I would like to, but I hope this is something. This in my opinion, is more of a filler. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Warning: This and many other chapters of this story include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so mistakes are all my own.**

* * *

><p>He is not in the bed next to me when I wake. I hear him downstairs shuffling around, and the doors closes, almost so softly, I cannot hear. He doesn't want to wake me.<p>

I blink my eyes several times, before I am able to move the blanket away, and swing my legs over the side of the bed to stand. I go the bathroom, stumbling, feeling a pain between my legs more severe than when we first made love. I wasn't wet last night.

I turn the faucet next to the tub, hearing the pipes down in the floor below me, and wait till the porcelain fills with water that is hot when I dip my fingers in it, testing the temperature. I lay my body down, slowly, and work a lather all across my body before I dip my hair into the water, wetting it so that I can shampoo it.

When I am finished, and my muscles feel better, I grab the towel on the sink and dry myself off, then lean down and pull the cork from the drain in the tub.

I open the door, almost dropping my towel from my hands. Jacob is striping the sheets from the bed, and taking the pillowcases away, throwing them into the laundry hamper. I did not expect him to be so brazen just right after last night, he can't even give me distance.

He hears the squeak from the old door, and looks up at me. He looks like a wounded puppy, but I try my best to ignore him. He will not make me feel sorry for him, after everything he has done. Even if when I look at his face, I feel my resolve melting. _He doesn't mean it._ _He isn't sorry. Don't try to fool yourself, Bella._

I clutch the towel tighter against my body with my left hand, and start toward the dresser. I get on my knees, not caring that my hair is dripping wet dots onto the carpet as I open and the close drawers, looking until I have found a matching pair of bra and underwear, along with a pair of pajamas. I do not plan on following Jacob anywhere today.

The horses can miss me all they want. He only showed them to me, trying to make me think he could possibly be a compassionate person, but I know better now. He hurt me. And there isn't anything he can do to make it better.

Nothing I can imagine him doing. He wouldn't just set me free after what has happened, I am more stuck here than ever.

* * *

><p>My hair is wet, and starting to turn into waves around my face. I sit down on the bed Jacob has made and fumble around to look for my hairbrush. I open and close the drawers of the shabby bedside table but find nothing.<em> Where could it have gone?<em>

Just as I am able to huff in frustration, I feel him come into the room, and around to kneel on the bed. I feel the soft bristles of the hairbrush then by my ear, and going through my damp hair. I still and find myself turning to look into his eyes, but this time, he cannot meet my gaze.

His strokes are soft and tender against my scalp, and I find myself calming down, feeling him take the ends of my hair into his hand, pushing the brush to untangle any knots.

We are silent, and the only thing that can be heard is breathing. My heart thumps in my chest when I feel his lips on my neck, but he does not pursue me any further than that, and stands and hands me the brush before turning to exit the room.

I hear his footsteps on the staircase, thump, thump, down. And that is when I finally close my eyes and lay down. I am safe in this moment.

Away from him.

* * *

><p>It doesn't last long. He comes back into the room again, after I don't know how long, but when he does, I am on the floor, sorting through my books that he has brought from my house, for me to have to pass the time.<p>

I am deciding on between Bronte and Austen, when I hear his voice say,"Honey, I made you breakfast."

I do not raise my head, instead focus on leafing through my ragged paperback, before deciding it is_ Pride and Prejudice_ that I want to read. I somehow try to manage the chaos of books into a neat stack, and go to sit on the bed. He will not interrupt me.

I am tucking the blanket around my hips, when he sets down the plate on the table just right near my arm. I do not acknowledge him, and I can feel his stare on my face, intense and daring me to ignore him.

I know I shouldn't test him, but he has left me no choice. How can he expect me to say anything or interact with him after he violated me in a way that crushed my spirit. He has no right to expect anything from me anymore.

I have already given him so much, can't he just let me _be?_

* * *

><p>He doesn't even give me a chance to be mad for a day. He doesn't care. He only thinks of himself as he sits on my left side, and starts to clank his fork against his plate, cutting through the omelet, letting the cheese ooze, and become sticky and stretchy when he brings it to his mouth.<p>

I do not want to eat, but I am hungry. I frown, feeling my lips come down, and then up, I bite them, and I give up. I'm not going to let him take anything away from me. I open my mouth and feel the warm and salty texture of egg on my tongue and chew.

He takes my chewing as a sign of defeat. He's wrong.

* * *

><p>I do not talk to him for days. I can tell my silence if taking a toll on him. I feel his eyes on me at all times, trying to will me to look at him, talk to him, return his touches, and let him inside of me at night.<p>

But I close my legs, and roll over. I feel his hand tracing circles onto my thigh, but close my eyes, focusing on falling asleep. I will not return his affection, and will not listen to his pleading voice when he says, "Please, Bella."

I ignore him, and he doesn't try to force me.

Sometimes, when I awake, and my mouth is dry, and it is dark in the room, I feel the mattress moving slightly. I pretend that I am dreaming, but even as much as I wish I was, I listen to his soft grunts, as he pumps himself right next to me, his hand grasping his shaft, up and down, under the sheets.

I feel myself become wet, but fight the desire that threatens to overtake my morals. _I will not give in_, no matter how much the need is getting to me.

* * *

><p>This time when I wake up, I am staring at the naked flesh dangling between his legs as he comes out of the bathroom. His body is slick, wet, from his shower. His hair drips, and he shuffles his towel through it, all while catching my eyes, staring from my pillow.<p>

We have not had sex since that night, but I am feeling myself craving the feeling of being filled up to my hilt, so much so that I feel I cannot breathe. I don't want to want Jacob, but it seems to be impossible not to.

* * *

><p>He catches me touching myself when he comes back from feeding the horses, and I still my hand, my flesh hot and sticky, my fingers smelling of musk.<p>

He groans, and whatever was in his hands falls to the floor. I remove my hand from between my legs and move to walk toward the bathroom, but never make it off my bed.

He comes for me, his knees sinking into the mattress, "I knew it," he says, and he kisses me hungrily. His hands comes up under my jaw, and his other catches my own, licking each of my fingers, a 'pop' sound heard when he releases them from his tongue.

"I've been wanting to taste you so bad, baby," his voice is throaty, and his tone makes me melt back into the bed, I cannot think. I want him now, thrusting, and rough.

I reach for his head, and I pull him back down to my mouth, and I taste myself on his tongue, but I do not mind, I only arch my hips further to meet his. He moans into my mouth, and I feel his hand reach for the apex between my thighs, and his fingers push high up until I feel I am raw from the force he uses.

He does not stop moving his hand, not until I have came more than twice, and then his head is in my lap, licking and sucking. I give him everything, and he takes it all.

* * *

><p>I pull away after that, and his hand slides down my arm as I walk to the bathroom. I slide down the door when it is closed, and tears brim at my eyes.<p>

_What is wrong with me? What has he done to me?_

* * *

><p>I venture out onto the fields, and let him trail me along by the hand, but still, I have not uttered a word to him since that night. I'll give him anything but my voice. At least, that I can keep.<p>

This bothers him, but he doesn't push the issue further. Instead takes me, with my off bitten tongue, into the stables, and I lost myself in the feeling of warmth and tender nudges from the horses mouths on my hands.

I find myself giggling and laughing at the weird mannerisms each horse has, and for a second, I swear I have smiled. It has been days since my face has felt so outstretched and relieved. I feel Jacobs eyes on me, but I do not turn to show him my temporary happiness.

He doesn't deserve it.

* * *

><p>I eat, feeling the moist meat in my mouth, chewing and swallowing. Steak, again. The second time this week. We came back from the stables, and I noticed the blood dripping down, forming a spot on front of my pants.<p>

Jacob took the pair from my hands when I entered the bathroom, to wash them downstairs, the rusty machine making noises that suggest it shouldn't be used. "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?" he asked, pressing his hand on my abdomen, when he comes back to find me striping to get into the tub.

I nod once, and wait for him to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he puts the top of the seat on the toliet, and sits, watching me as I get the hint, and lift my shirt over my head, unclasping my bra, twisting my arms to my back.

The only sound to be heard in the room is the small slosh of water as I dip my foot hesitantly into the water, testing the heat and it, and sink down, curling my legs to my chest.

I wonder why he does not leave, and even though I detect lust in his eyes as he watches my take the soap and lather it into my hands, and spreading the thin film slowly over my skin, he is not here merely to gaze at me. I hear him clear his throat, and he leans his elbows on his knees, his Adams apple moving when he swallows beneath the skin of his throat.

"Bella, there's something we have to talk about," he says, and I look up from washing my calves, to find him looking nervous. I cannot fathom why, and look at him long enough to tell him that I am listening, although I may seem distracted in my land of my body.

"Now that you have you're period, I'm going to have to get something I didn't think of," and I understand the concern on his face then than I did a few moments ago. Pads, he didn't think of stocking up on them for my 'stay'.

"I'm gonna have to get what you need, but I'm not sure it's a good idea to take you with me," he eyes take on a darker look and I feel my face heat up as he continues with,"I don't want you making a scene, and I doubt that you won't."

I don't respond, but nudge the top of the tap with my foot, bringing my head down into the water, wetting my hair and blurring his voice.

_What does this mean for me?_ If he's not taking me, _will he leave me alone?_ I get excited at the thought but then I feel dread as I think of the barren wasteland that surrounds this place where I am stuck. _How could I ever find my way out?_ There isn't a chance without time. He has a car, but he'll be using it to get into town.

And I can't ride a horse yet properly. I close my eyes, hope still swims within me, but everytime I think a miracle will happen, I'm let down by my own masochistic thinking.

"When are you going?" I ask, my voice quiet, and unsuspecting. I glance up, to find him staring down at his shoes that are scuffed and in desperate need of polish. He doesn't respond, thinking through with his answer, and I find myself hoping that he will go soon. How will I go around, blood leaking down my thighs?

Surely, he wouldn't make me break up fabrics and stuff them into my underwear. Or would he, to insure there is no risk of anything happening while he is gone away, in town, an unknown amount of miles, that could foil his plan and effort to keep me, all to himself.

"Maybe, tonight. When it's dark, and you won't think to even wander outside. They're wolves around, y'know," he says, humor in his eyes, and I sink down further into the tub, and close my eyes._ Is this true?_ Another obstacle I have to cross when it comes down to finding a way around this barren farm, that suggests I should not hope for the future.

"But don't worry, I'll be the only one biting that skin of yours," I hear his chuckle, and rub my thighs together, feeling his hand dip into the water to steady the shaking feeling that crawls along my flesh.

* * *

><p>I dress in one of his shirts, my damp hair wetting the fabric to my back, and lay in the center of the bed, with my hands pressed against my stomach, as if pressing down the pain will make it go away.<p>

He leans down and kisses me on my lips, threading his fingers through my hair, and he pulls up the blankets, and wraps them snuggly around me, tucking the ends over and under me.

"I won't be long, sweetheart." And with that, he brushes his knuckles over my cheek, locking the door of his room. I hear his steps down the stairs and he is gone when I see lights reflect from outside, through my window, and radiate on the beginnings of the ceiling and side wall.

My eyes close, and I breathe a sigh of relief, better off without him than with him, even if only for a few hours.

I am not sure of how much time passes within sleep, when he comes back, and I hear the shuffle of his shoes on the hard wood floor. "Honey, wake up," he says while softly shaking my shoulder, waiting for my eyes to flicker open.

He looks relieved to find me in such a dozed state, and runs his hand along my neck, the cold from his fingers caused by the cold air outside waking me further, allowing me to sit up when he pulls me to his side. "Mhmm," I yawn and lean into his when I feel him carrying me to the bathroom turning the light on, momentarily blinding me.

"You have to wash up, there's blood everywhere," and with that, I finally realize why he is so urgent, taking his clothes off of me, while steadying me against his chest, and turning the water on for a shower instead of a bath.

I hold my hands loosely on his arms, and brush my face against his chest, eager for sleep. I feel like I have only rested for mere moments, and have been teased out of sleep. I feel the sticky residue in between my thighs, clotting, and Jacob tells me to lift my leg, and lean on the wall. I do and the water shocks me.

It's freezing, and I hiss at him, only to feel him turning the knob to signal for hot water. I shiver, and feel him take me into his arms, our bodies slick with water, pressed against each other, no space to separate his overwhelming presence from pushing me against the cold wall of the shower.

He buries his face into my neck, and I feel him shaking, breathing heavily, with his mouth open. I am not sure what this means, but when he holds me to him more securely, my breasts brushing against his hard chest. "Oh, Bella," his voice is soft, and it sounds like his voice will break if he says anything more.

He pulls back, and holds my cheek in his hand, the water making the tips of his fingers slide easily down, and he nudges my lower lip, looking into my eyes. And before I know it, he kisses me, pressing me into the wall, his hand moving down my body and nudging my thighs apart, hoisting me until my legs are wrapped around his waist.

He enters me before I can register what is happening and he grunts, a low sound in the back of his throat, his forehead scrunching against mine, filling me, hitting a spot over and over with every movement of his hips.

I moan, and cannot help but to throw my head back, my hands moving to his shoulders to steady myself when I think the pleasure is so consuming, I will somehow collapse, even in Jacobs arms.

"You're so warm this way," he says, and I know he s referring to the layer of blood coating his shaft, but it does not seem to bother him, but urge him further inside of me, the extra moisture making the difficultest of positions easier.

"Tell me, Bella. Tell me you'll never leave me," he whispers and I know he is close by the way slams into me, almost violently, so hard, it almost hurts when I suck in a breath to say, "I'll never leave you."

He cums then, hot spurts shooting through me, touching every space, until I can't move any longer, when he pulls out of me, and has to hold me against him to stand. I breathe heavily, and feel his hands rubbing my lower back, kissing me repeatedly on my face, my jaw, my neck and then my lips when he tilts my head to meet his.

"I love you, sweetheart."

I respond by leaning my face on his shoulder, weaving my arms through him, hugging him back until he pulls me down to sit in the tub of the shower, beads of water streaming down on us, until they go cold, and we are forced to wash up.

* * *

><p>He warms me some milk and hands it to me, rubbing my stomach and lower back, before urging me under the clean covers he put to replace the ones I stained in my sleep.<p>

The pad feels stiff against the sore place between my legs and I try to relax when I lay on my side, and listen to him put the small cup on the nightstand when I am finished. I wear his boxer shorts and a loose shirt and close my eyes, feeling my damp hair wetting my pillowcase when he dips his knees into the bed, and reaches over to slide his warm hand under his shirt.

His skin is rough, but oddly comforting, as he slides it down and over my abdomen, eliciting sounds I have never been known to make. His head hits his pillow and when I open my eyes, he is watching me.

I look into his eyes, and feel a small smile curl at my lips before I can stop myself.

* * *

><p>I feel conflicted with the feeling of wanting to be close with him, but knowing that getting closer to Jacob is not logical. I should not warm up to him, after everything he has done and taken from me.<p>

But there are times when I look into his eyes, and I cannot fathom how it is I could ever leave him alone in this cold place, with dead land for company. Or how I could leave the man that has made me feel loved, no matter how he has hurt me.

I feel..warm when I'm with him.

* * *

><p>The small attena on the TV starts to shake, and everytime the screen cuts off with a buzzing sound, I find myself becoming more frustrated. How long has Jacob had this TV, and why doesn't he buy a new one?<p>

I lean on my knees, pointing the metal rods farther apart, stretching them until the picture starts to flicker back and I see color and hear voices.

Jacob is in the kitchen, and from what I hear, I assume he's chopping vegetables for the stew he told me he would make. The pan sizzles, and I can smell the aroma of beef being seared over the stove.

My stomach growls, as I wait, lain on my side, snuggling with a quilt Jacob gave me when I said I was cold. It looks to be becoming winter soon, the temperature dropping more and more it seems when I go outside.

I flip through the channels of basic TV, missing the large variety of having cable. I look down and see that at least Jacob has gotten a coverter box. Imagine having to live here without anything to watch? It would be unbearable.

I settle on the news and immediately regret my choice. I see a tuff of brown hair and mustache, and I instantly recognize the man, in which the reporter is interviewing.

"_Do you feel any closer to finding your daughter than you did when you started Chief Swan?"_

_"There hasn't been many leads and not much evidence, if any at all, but I know that I will find her."_ He looks into the camera for brief second, as if searching, and I wonder by the look in his eyes if he knows that I am somehow watching him. He turns away and exists, back into the station.

I feel my heart pounding, and my face heat up, and then I realize I am crying. I move to sit up but before I do, I feel my stomach twist and before I know it, I hold my mouth with my hand and raise up the stairs to the bathroom running.

Jacob finds me vomiting into the toliet bowl, and holds back my hair, thinking that period id making me nauseous but that is not anything close to what is affecting me.

He knows I'm alive. He knows and he'll find me. He'll save me from Jacob and take me back home and I won't have to ever see him again.

Jacob rubs my back, and tells me,"It's alright sweetheart, it'll go in a moment." I lean against him, with my legs curled under me, and rest my back against his chest, letting him stroke my hair as he helps me to stand.

He thinks he has me right where he wants me, when I return his embrace, nuzzling my face into his neck, assuming I appreciate him, but really, now all I am doing is fooling him.

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><p><strong>AN: Please leave a review. I'll appreciate anything you want to say.**


	3. Broken Jaw

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and even favorite this story. It means so much to me that people are following it, even though I'm probably the worst writer and updater ever.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Warning: This and many other chapters of this story include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.**

* * *

><p>After eating dinner, Jacob cocoons me while we lay on the sofa, watching meaningless television that I have absolutely no interest in watching. My mind is racing and I can't think of anything besides the news story, in which my father said that he was looking for me, even though as more time goes on more people lose hope in finding the one who they have lost alive.<p>

I sigh on the thought that relieves me if only for a while, cluttering the blanket that is wrapped around me, and shake slightly. Seeing that three minute clip that has probably played over and over every time they recover the highlights of today on the news broadcast, has woken me up inside.

I feel like there is hope for the first time that I have been with Jacob. I will be found, and saved, and finally be free of him. I can't help but smile and nestle into Jacobs chest more comfortably, and realize that I have to make sure that he doesn't get suspicious from my sudden jumpy behavior. I have to act like I have been acting. Only now I seem to not know how to do that so easily with the constant reminding myself that this whole situation is only temporary.

I am just so excited, I need to calm down. Make Jacob happy, and leave him in the dark. I can't ruin my chances by setting him off, and somehow moving our location. But I know we must be near Forks, even if it is hours away, because he left last night and our channels are the same that are programmed back at home.

I am so into my own little world, that I don't even notice when Jacobs hand reaches under the bunched up material of my shirt, and rubs my stomach, back and forth, making me cold, but at the same time warming me with the heat of his hand, creating a pleasant friction from his motions.

I can't help but to feel ashamed that I let him touch me, and to admit that I find everything he does to be something that I find myself yearning for. I wonder if we both had met normally, if we would be in a regular relationship. I like to feel him, feeling me, knowing that I make him feel like a man. But I feel like I am betraying my father by sleeping with the enemy.

But this is the only thing that will ensure that when my father finds me that I will safe, healthy and ready to testify against my captor. _Seduce him_, my mind tells me and I gladly do without fighting myself.

I put my hand over his, and guide it up towards the lining of my bra, letting him sink his fingers under the wire. Then before I know it, he pinches my nibble hard and then whispers in my ear, 'Are you sure, baby?" _Yes, more than you know._

I nod, and turn so that I am facing him, and bite my lip when I find him grinning, his eyes so intense that I can't help feel myself sink lower into his side, my panties moistening. My body shouldn't be reacting this way, but I can't help it. _He excites me._ "Come on, sweetheart, let me feel you."

And I do, I move to straddle him moving on my knees, my legs shifting on either side of him, but before I rub myself onto him, I take my shirt off with the swoop of my arms, my lacy bra coming down onto the floor when I unclasp it. _Take control, make him think you want this as badly as he does._ But I'm not lying. _I really do want him._

I lean down and take his bottom lip between my teeth, and tug softly so that he slowly sits up and catches my mouth fully, lacing his tongue through my lips, meddling our saliva together. He thrusts upwards through the material between us, extracting a moan from the deep part of my throat that even surprises me but urges him on to do it another time and keep going.

I break apart from his mouth, only to have his hand thread into my hair and pull me down onto him again, holding my head so that I cannot more away from him, all the while, rubbing the hardness in his pants against me over and over again. He won't let me go, and I find the more I pull away, the more he doesn't let me. He's in control. He dominates me. _I think I kind of like it to be honest._

When he does finally take his lips from mine, it is only because I am pushing so hard on his chest, to tell him he has to stop because I can't breathe. Instead he bites me, above the lace that my breast adorned only moments before, taking the flesh and forcing his teeth down so hard, I yelp. He looks up at me, his mouth still latched onto my skin, and tongues the spot, bringing slight relief, if only for a moment before it burns again.

"Make that sound again." I look down at him dumbly, not knowing what to say or do. _How can I just do that again? I only made that sound because I was in pain._

"I-I can't, Jacob. I don't know what to do," I say, stupidly, putting my hands on his neck, feeling the tendons of his muscles underneath my fingertips ripple the more his tongue moves on my wound.

He chuckles against my skin, and then he grins, amused at my confusion. I don't understand what's so funny about what I have said, and huff, letting him do his own things as he continues to tease my skin and then goes in for the kill, biting me again out of nowhere close to where the material of the bra is close to showing my nipple if I lean down any more than I am into his mouth.

"Ow! What was that for?" I say, pulling away from him, my hand coming over my wet skin, the spots where he's bitten me sore and puffy red. I shift my legs off of him, and go to stand when his hand comes around my wrist and pulls me down to sit on his lap, his face breathing in the scent of my hair.

"You made that sound again," he whispers into my ear, flicking my earlobe with his tongue, wrapping his arms around around my middle. I pout, turning to face him, and say, "You did that on purpose."

"You know I did, I'm not gonna deny it. I liked it. I like that sound. I want to hear you make that sound when I'm inside you, thrusting," he tells me, playing with a strand of my hair, curling it around his finger, bringing it over to lay on my bite mark thoughtfully. "When you're begging me to make you come," he takes his hand and lays it down over my heat and palms it suggestively, forcefully enough that I moan, "And when you scream my name when I do."

* * *

><p>I stare in the mirror of the bathroom, my eyes following the series of bite marks that move from the beginning of my shoulder, all the way down to my nipple on the left side. My fingertips trail lightly over the inflamed marks, and I can't help myself but to press down on them even though I know it will only sting when I do.<p>

I've never been marked in such a way, and I feel as if Jacob is trying to tell me something. I hear him shuffling around in bed, changing the sheets around, and putting them in the laundry hamper down the worn down hall.

They are no ordinary hickey's. I can see where his teeth punctured my skin, and feel the tiny holes of where his teeth met. I can't stop staring. I don't know whether to be angry with him, for they will probably leave a scar they are that deep, or if I am fascinated by the way they cover my skin, as angry bloody wounds.

* * *

><p>"Jake?" I ask, turning over to his side, breaking the hold he has on my waist that allows him to spoon me from behind and into his chest.<p>

"Yeah, sweetheart?" He opens his eyes, and his hand starts to stroke my hair from the back of my head down along my back. I lay my hands gently down, the pads of my fingertips tracing along his smooth skin, and dipping under his arms to hold onto his shoulders.

I rest my head back into the pillow on my side, my left ear muffled, and feel a blush come from the sides of my neck to my cheek, my face feeling warmer than it should. Why am I so nervous?

"Have you ever - been with another woman?" I look into his blue and brown eye and can't help but feel a sudden twinge of panic in the deep part of my stomach. A part of me wants to hear what he has to say and the other part is too scared to even contemplate what his answer might be.

He smiles an amused by shy smile, and leans to kiss me on my forehead, and turns his mouth so that he is whispering in my ear, "No, never before you."

"Really?" I can hear the relief in my own voice, and I am embarrassed, but I don't know how I would have felt if he had said that I wasn't the only one. You're not suppose to like his attention, I scold myself.

"Yes, you were the one who took my virginity." I am in disbelief. He seemed he knew exactly what he was doing, and I was the one who was fumbling with her naivety.

"You've never been in a relationship?" I nestle the side of my head into his neck, feeling his Adams apple brush move down as he swallows before answering me.

"No." I look up at him surprised, and kiss his chin, the stubble tickling my lips, but I find that I like him rough and unshaved. I realize then, as he wants me for his own, that I want him in the same way. There is a thrill with knowing that you have claim on who you are enamored with, not that I am.

"Why not?" I ask, smoothing my hands over his bare back, feeling him shiver as I trail my fingertips over his spine, and back to his shoulder blades, threading my hands through his hair. Despite his psychopath tendencies, I think he's a great catch. Well, if we hadn't met the way we did, I might think so otherwise.

"I was never the type of guy girls wanted, I guess." He answered, his mouth muffled by my hair. "What about you?" I shrink back, not wanting to talk about myself but find that I am the one who roped myself into this conversation. I don't want him to become angry when we are actually for the first time having a real conversation with no difficulties.

"Me?" I ask, prolonging the inevitable. I know he will not let this go if I do not answer, he is relentless.

"Yeah, have you been with anyone?" I hear the curiosity in his voice, but an edge as well. I don't want him to take anything the wrong way. It seems he always does.

"I've had a couple of boyfriends, but never nothing I considered to be serious,' I answer lightly, keeping not a hint of wanting to say anything more in my voice.

"Did you ever do anything sexual with them, I mean I know you were a virgin, but did you ever fool around?"

"Yes, but only once."

"With who?" I feel my face heating up, and know that a blush is creeping around the beginnings of my neck and traveling up to my cheeks, spreading a faint glow of embarrassment that I do not want him to have the chance of seeing.

"I don't want to talk about that." I feel his hand still in my hair, and he moves to tilt his face back so that he can see my full expressed unadulterated and real.

"No, tell me. You brought it up." His mouth is turned down, and his eyes are stormy. I answer with the only thing that might get him to let up, "You'll get mad at me."

"I'm already mad that someone other than me touched you. Now tell me who so I beat the living shit out of him," I don't make a move, but instead stare at the where my hand lays o his chest, too afraid to look him the face, "Or do I already know who it is?"

"Stop it Jacob, it didn't mean anything to me, okay?" I finally look up and straight into his eyes, my voice increasing in volume and find that even as I am trying to control myself, I have hit a nerve with my agitation.

"It still happened," he says, as if it will do anything to change my stand point. I am so mad I could spit, with him acting as it has anything to do with him what happened before we ever got together, or better yet, before he stole me. "Bella, so help me, if you don't tell me -" His hand moves to my neck, and his thumb presses hard on my windpipe, and by then I am a blubbering mess from the pain and his anger that scares me into submission.

"It was E-Edward." I say, my hand pulling hard on his forearm to stop his thumb from digging into my skin, and making it so that when I speak, it burns deep inside, and makes me choke on my words.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it."

"Pleas-se, Jake, stop - " I plead, asking for his grasp on my neck to loosen. He lets go with a grunt and moves to pin me down by my thighs, his knees feeling like they are digging and breaking apart my bones with the weight he puts on them.

"How could you, with scum like him?" He asks, and takes either sides of my neck with his hands and just as he is about to close them together I scream, "You act like I wanted it!"

"Didn't you!" His face is red under his tan skin, and I can see the rage in his eyes, and the tenseness in his muscles as if he was about to coil and jump into attack.

I turn my face and his hands still, my eyes are red and puffy, my cheeks wet with my crying, and whisper, "No."

He stops his movements all together, and he leans down, and takes my head in his hands gently, his thumbs brushing away at my eyes that don't seem to want to stop brimming and says, "He forced you?"

I nod, and bite on my lip but in the deep part of my mind, I hear a voice say:

_Don't forget that you did too._

* * *

><p>"Bella? What are doing?" I hear Jacob ask from inside of the barn, his voice becoming louder as he steps closer to where I am on the ground, my arms spread out and legs limp on the seeping earth. It's finally rained here, and I think I feel the wetness of mud sticking to the backs of my worn out jeans.<p>

"Laying down," I reply, closing my eyes and feeling the noon sun shine down on my skin, warming my face from the slight brisk of chill in the air. My neck hurts as I move it to speak, and inside I imagine myself kicking Jacob in the throat repeatedly while he struggles to move away but he's so weak that all he does is shake.

The thought makes me smile, but when Jacob comes and lays down next to me, I feel it sliding down my face, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. _Can you stop interrupting my fantasies of killing you? Please, for just one second. I thought you were about to stop breathing._

"You know I used to do this when I was little," his voice rumbles in his chest, his voice is so deep in thought, and for a moment I stop killing him and instead see him in my mind, in the same spot I lay, as a child. The image almost makes me feel horrible for thinking what I have thought, but in the last moment, I decide he is no longer what he once was. I feel no guilt.

When people grow up, they become people that even when they little, could not think up. They lose everything that made them gentle and warm, vibrant and full of life and turn into something tainted and hard.

I turn my head look at the side of his face, and wish I could have met him before he lost everything that made him good, and turned into this monster that only caused me pain. Maybe then there would have been a chance for us.

_Stop Bella. Don't try to feel sorry for him._ But I can't help not to.

* * *

><p>Jacob is carrying a box filled with the bowls that the horses use, bringing them inside the house to wash them clean and bring them back later, around the evening. I watch as he sets down the box and takes off his muddy flannel shirt, and walks around the kitchen in only a wife beater.<p>

I sit down at the table, and too take off my light cardigan. Jacob is really going to have scrub these later. The marks of thick dirt are heavy, and cover the complete back of the sheer material, and leak through. I can feel that's it's damp. I am running it over my hands, about to drop it in the laundry hamper Jacob keeps by the door to the basement near the far end of the stove when both Jacob and I still from the sound of a knock.

I immediately turn and look at Jacobs face and find that it has grown hard and ready for anything that is on the other side of that door. I'm scared by the determination I see on his face and for a moment I want to cower at his feet and tell him that he doesn't have to worry. I won't let anyone take me away. But that moment passes and I'm unsure of what to do.

Do I run to the door? Do I tell whoever is on the other side of it about the kidnapping, rape and countless abuse Jacob has inflicted upon me or do I remain still, listening to my own heavy breathing and watch the pulse in Jacobs neck quicken.

I don't have anymore time to deliberate on what to do before I see Jacob pull a gun from the inside of the doorway to the basement and wondered how many times I had escaped death in his hands everytime I angered him.

There is another knock. And this time it sounds persistent. "Jake-"

"Get the fuck upstairs and lock yourself in the bathroom," He says before I can say anything more to try and figure out how he's going to handle this situation. I feel tears come to my eyes and I bite down on my lip. I don't move.

Jacobs eyes leave the door, and look back at me. "Now, Bella or so help me-"

"Is anybody home?" It's a man, and he doesn't sound angry or anything like what I expected. I expected brute force, menacing even, but I wanted to. It doesn't sound like the beginnings of a cop trying to hatch out a plan to get the criminal to open the door, and for a second, I feel my forehead crease with confusion.

In fact the voice almost sounds too friendly. I see Jacob walk to the door slowly, and see him move the rifle to aim and hear a clicking noise, and my heart jumps into my throat. Before I am able to pull him away and tell him to not shoot, his arm comes out and opens the door so suddenly that even the man in the pinstripe suit on the other side is anxious.

"Oh, hey. I -" He stops talking when he sees the gun cocked in Jacobs arm and the cold look in his eyes. He has soft blonde hair and warm blue eyes, but I can see that he is scared for his life and he should be. Jacob is not any person to be fooled around with. He's dangerous.

"What the fuck do you want?" I'm shaking and I try to make him put his aim down but I can't even hear myself my heart is pounding so fast that it feels like it's living in my ears.

"Hi I-I'm a representative from Forks Avenue Real Estate, and I would only like to have a moment of your time," the man says, his Adams apple moving as he swallows deeply, his eyes rapidly moving to look anywhere but at the barrel that is only inches from his face.

Jacob doesn't detect much threat from this man, but I can see that he is apprehensive, and even looks beyond the man and onto his land for any other people that might be hidden and ready to arrest him. He doesn't want to be caught and seems he won't be.

I don't feel disappointment as I should but fear, Jacob doesn't listen to my pleas until he thinks it's safe. He hesitantly let's down the gun and I can see the man slowly exhale the breath he must have been holding. "You mean like a realtor?" Jacob asks finally, but I can still sense a harshness in his voice.

"Yes, yes. If you would let me, I have a proposition for you, uh, Mr. Black I presume?" The man asks, and goes to set down his briefcase to shake hands with Jacob as he nods slowly.

"And you are?" Jacob asks in return, moving in the doorway to let the man in, and I slowly move to stand behind Jacob, holding his arm tightly in my hands. I'm still nervous and I don't know if I should say anything, anything at all that would save me and free me off this ranch. But I don't test anything while Jacob is armed. I'm not that stupid. Jacob would just shoot him and then turn the gun on me. And I don't want to die this early in the game.

I have more self preservation than that, and I value my life greatly, or what's left of it.

"Jasper. Jasper Whitlock. And the ma'am?" He turns to me and smiles despite knowing that I am greatly upset and embarrassed for everything he has had to go through, all because of Jacobs psychotic ways.

"Marie," Jacob says before I can open my mouth and say my real name. But more importantly that blowing it for Jacob, I am surprised that he seems to know my middle name without my having knowledge that he did.

"Pleased to meet you," He says extending his hand to take mine, and kiss the front of my hand which leaves me feeling naked. I'm already awkward and skimpy, only wearing a thin camisole and tight jeans dirty from the rain. "Have we met before?" He asks with a certainness in his eye to which I shake my head and refrain from keep my stare on him.

"My mistake." I don't say anything back to him but instead look down at my feet, and heeled tip of my hiking boots shuffling slightly on the floor as a result of my nervousness. I feel Jacobs arm come around my shoulder's and he presses me into his side. I feel the bare skin of his inner arm on my mine, and I don't move away. In fact, I almost find his touch comforting in this situation.

"Well, is there a place we can all sit down and -" Jasper starts to suggest and before he finishes his sentence, Jacob starts to steer us to the living room. We begin to sit down on the sofa and Jasper on the one opposite of us.

"So what is this all about?" Jacob asks, and I try my best not to react to his hard voice. I just want this man gone, and for us to stop putting up the act that we are what we say we are. Normal. A couple.

"Um, well, or agency is interested in this part of land. We feel we could make real use out of it." Jasper leans eager to convince Jacob that it would be better to his interest if he should sell it.

"My father left me this estate." I listen with my head rested on Jacobs chest, feeling his heart beat under the shell of my ear, and thump through my head.

"And where is he residing now?"

"He's dead, actually." Jacob responds smoothly, as if he's talking about something as insignificant as the weather, but I can tell he does so because he doesn't want to talk about something so personal. I look up at him, and press my hand against his stomach, telling him that I'm there for him. I'm surprised. I never thought he had a weakness.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me - " Jasper is flustered and speaking fast, but Jacob cuts him off with a simple sentence.

"It's all he left me."

"Would you be interested in selling it, if I should ask?" He's trying to recover the sale, and take the attention off of something that might hold Jacob back sentimentally. But I know that Jacob is a stubborn person and will do what he wants. He's not one to swayed. I should know.

"I wouldn't, actually. If that's all-" Jacob is frustrated and even beginning to stand, but he leans back only for a moment when Jasper asks, "Are you positive that that's what you would like to do Mr. Black?"

"Yes. I don't have anything else to really say." He pulls me up with him, and I can't really look Jasper in the eye, fearing he has discovered me and who Jacob really is.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you then, but if you would happen to change your mind, here's my card." He hands it to Jacob, which he takes without looking, crumpling it in his hand.

"I don't think so." Jasper looks down, and breathes deeply, defeated.

"Well thanks for your time, Mr. Black, Marie," He looks to me pointedly, and for a moment I fear that he knows everything, but I can't be curtained because he moves his face before I can get a really good look into his eyes.

* * *

><p>Jacob looks from the front door, lifting up the short yellow curtain in the glass, to watch Jasper move into his car and turn to the direction of the road, and drive away. It is only then when he breathes easily.<p>

And then immediately after, he presses my body to his, and buries his face into my neck, "Oh, god, Bella. I thought I was going to lose you."

"You didn't, calm down," I say, and my voice if foreign to me. I am comforting my kidnapper, after he thought he was going to get caught, and I almost feel bad that he felt so anxious. I feel his harsh breaths, move from his chest through his toned stomach, and press against me.

"I love you, I love you so much sweetheart," he says and tilts my head back and I think I see form in his eyes as he speaks those words to me. He takes my head and pushes it toward him and takes my mouth and kisses me so deeply and urgently I feel his total and complete want.

I can't deny him. Not after telling me these things that I feel that he really means.

* * *

><p>My legs wrap around his waist, fast and hard he presses me against the wall of the kitchen, grinding his hips into mine. "Jake," I moan, and lean feel him move slowly up the stairs, as to not drop me, and kick open the door to his bedroom, probably breaking the dead bolt, and comes down with me on the bed, suffocating me with his heavy weight.<p>

I respond eagerly to his lips and hands when they move to flick the flimsy material of my shirt over my head with my bra, and then moves to unbutton the the front part of my jeans, bringing them down my hips along with my lace underwear I have taken to wearing around him.

I feel his cock rubbing against the nub of my clit, and I almost lose my mind, before he finally moves inside me, his jeans hanging on his legs from being pushed down. With every slap of his skin on mine, I feel the itchy crease of his jeans chav my skin, but I don't care.

I would be happy to spend as much time in this moment as I could.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I really wanted to get something up for you guys. Please leave a review if you appreciated my efforts.**


	4. Hats Off to the Bull

**A/N: It's been a very long time since I've posted anything on Fanfiction, and I really hadn't planned to. But I've been so stressed because of school, that I needed a release. I came onto here to read, and I found myself thinking about my own stories. I reread Girl, I Need You, and thought myself so cruel as to leave all of you hanging. It almost felt I had left myself hanging. ****So without further ado, here's one for you guys. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Warning: This and many other chapters of this story include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. **

* * *

><p>"How did your father die?" I ask, not raising my voice more than a whisper. I feel my hesitation deep in my throat, almost frightened that I've woken him from his sleep after such a tense afternoon. The question I ask is not so easy to answer, I know, but I'm more curious that afraid of Jacob right after we've been so intimate. My head lies on his bare chest, and I feel the soft ache between my legs, the dull sound of his heart beating underneath the shell of my ear.<p>

"A horse of ours kicked him in the back of the head. Knocked him out cold, and then he didn't move." His voice breaks through anything that has shielded me from feeling, and the way his voice sounds tired makes me feel sorry to have disturbed him. He needs his rest, he's been through enough. I know he was worried before about losing me to the Realtor, but in this moment I'm so confused with my feelings that I need to talk, say something. I need to know what I'm feeling isn't delusional or crazy.

"How old were you?" My hand moves from underneath the left side of my face, away from his chest, then I'm tracing his hand that he has on his stomach. His fingers coil around mine, and with a sigh, he humors me. "Fifteen." I look up at his face, and watch as he closes his eyes, and then opens them to look at mine when he senses my gaze.

"How did you take care of yourself?" There's something dark in his face when I ask this question, and I almost tell him to forget it, it doesn't matter, but then he says,"I did anything I had to do."

"Do you still have that horse here?"

"No." I look away, and lay my head back on his chest, this time taking my hand away from his, before he's able to grab it and make it stay intertwined with his. I figured he wouldn't have let the horse stay on the property but I couldn't help myself. I want to know everything that could have driven Jacob to become this uneasy, controlling person. I want to know what could have happened to him that made it possible for him to take another human being, keep them against their will, and sexually abuse them to the point where I'm not sure whether or not that I'm here willingly.

"Did you sell it?"

"I shot it and buried it along with my father."

"And your mother?"

"Car crash."

I don't speak after he says those words, and feel him breathe heavily thinking back to those events, and assume that I shouldn't push him any further than I already have.

Not before long, he flips me over to lay on my stomach, nudging my thighs apart with his knee, and pushes deep inside making the mere ache that was there before blaze alive with sudden pain before it becomes a neutral affliction.

He's been through so much, I can't even begin to imagine how I would feel if I watched my father die, and had to bury himself myself. He has no one left either.

Funny what it is that we have in common.

* * *

><p>"Jacob, do you know where my pink blouse is?" I ask, only wearing my thin white bra, with lace lining around the edges with bows on each strap. It's one of Jacob's favorites, and one of the only bras I own. After the 'move' he discarded anything he didn't prefer me wearing, which was mostly all my boring and run-down items.<p>

Some of which I miss because they were so comfortable, but if I want comfortable now it's either a shirt from Jake or go naked. My options are limited here. But at least he does the laundry. For a guy, he really is home handy so I can't complain on that part. No labor involved, just the fruits of my nature.

"It's hanging in the closest, honey," he yells from the hallway, and I hear a hammer going, pounding on a loose step at the beginning the stairs.

"Thank you!" I finally find it, take it off the hook, and slip into it. Buttoning it along the seam, and shaking my hair out of the towel I've wrapped it in, I walk down the hall and see Jacob on his knees on the third or fourth stepping, screwing nails into the first step.

"When can I come down and eat breakfast?" I ask, sitting down near the railing, and bring my hand to slowly push back some of the hair that's gotten into his eyes. He's really needing a haircut these days, not that he'll go into town again anytime soon. He's stocked up real hefty since the last time we ran out of 'supplies'.

"I'm almost done."

"How old is this house anyway?" All it does it creak, shake and break down leaving Jacob to mindlessly fix and repair each flaw.

"It's been in the family."

* * *

><p>"Jacob, what's the day today?" I ask, my eyes trailing along the different colored array of leaves. Muddy red, a dusted orange and tinged yellow. The wind hadn't let up, all night I had heard broken off branches scrap against the edges of the house.<p>

"Wednesday," he says simply, drying the dishes with the same dingy towel that he always does.

"I mean the date." I've been here so long that time melds within itself and I'm lost in between days and weeks. I'm only sure I've been here for a little over a month and a half.

"The ninth of September."

* * *

><p>"Where'd you ever go to school?"<p>

"Never did, home schooled," Jacob answers, flipping through the limited channels that we have reception for with the TV remote. He doesn't leave it on a channel for more than five seconds before moving to the next one. He settles on something to do with hunting, a typical male-rifle macho show that I have absolute no interest in watching. But I humor myself in watching the fascinated expressions on Jacob's face when the man starts to describe the point of attack.

His arm tightens around my shoulders when the man finally shoots his prey, the buck falling to its knees before laying down on its side, a thick mass of blood beginning to creep up from under the animals silken flank.

"Who taught you? Your dad?" I ask, watching Jacob's eyes never stray from the TV as he answers, almost not paying attention that I'm sitting right next to him.

"Yeah, who else?" I decide that he isn't worth talking to while he's otherwise preoccupied, instead lay my head down on his lamp, the rough fabric of his jeans under my cheek. His hand comes down my hair, stroking it back from my eyes in a steady rhythm.

I think of the long stretch of road that gets covered in ice and snow right around the beginning of October. Charlie putting the tracks on my tires. The separate building at school. One for English, another for Math. Jess, Angela even Eric and Mike.

I think of everything and anything that I might not ever see again.

* * *

><p>I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know the TV's low hum of voices is gone, and Jacob's telling me to hook my arms around his neck, and I'm resting my head on his shoulder.<p>

He takes the steps of the stairs carefully, tucking me under the sheets of the bed after he takes my shirt over my head and the jeans from my legs, replacing it all with what feels like an over-sized T-shirt of his. His fingers trail along the bite-marks that have already started healing.

I reach up and take his hand and press it against my breast. "Make love to me, Jake. Please." I open my legs and hook them around his waist when he comes near enough. I feel the strength in his body and my insides coil in anticipation.

His eyes look as if they're grinning, and his smirk makes me wet. "And what if I chose not to? Would you beg?"

"Would you want me to?" I ask, my hand trailing down the bulge beginning to form in the front of his jeans. He nods, and I feel myself blush. I've never been much of a dirty talker, but Jacob makes me do things I would never have before, whether I end up liking them or not.

"Please, Jake. Give me your cock," I plead, desperately, my voice taking on a breathless pitch. The words come from my mouth easier than I thought they would.

"You want me to fuck you with this cock?" He thrusts into my small hand and I nod eagerly, like a schoolgirl in a fantasy.

"Yes, please, I'm so wet for you."

"Let me see how wet my girl is." I instantly rush to kick off my panties, his words sending a live-wire through my most sensitive bits. I'm not ashamed to show him the honey he sends running wild through me.

He groans as I spread my lips for him, and touch myself. I throw my head back in wild abandon, and squeal when I feel his hand smack mine away. "This is my pussy." I giggle as he nips at my thighs, and moan when he kisses me right _there_.

"Jake," I gasp as he suddenly lays back, and causes me to straddle him. I've never been on top and it seems almost daunting to take my pleasure and his this way.

"Ride me, sweetheart." I sink down, and feel him become a part of me.

* * *

><p>His body is too warm next to mine when I wake, sometime in the early part of the night. I struggle underneath the weight of his heavy arm, but he doesn't seem to notice my jerky movements.<p>

He stirs slightly as I move him to get my clothes from below his feet on the sheets. I pull up my panties and my shirt, and move to put my hand on his forehead. My fingertips trail down to his neck, and his skin burns. I need to wake him.

"Jacob, wake up!" I push at his hunched shoulders, and see his glazed over eyes work to open through his sleepiness.

"What's wrong, Bella?"

"You're burning up. Do you feel okay?" He looks to the concern on my face and smiles slightly.

"Yeah, I just have a headache." I purse my lips and narrow my eyes. Guys and their need to appear in control and strong.

"Well, then I'll get you some medicine to take. I'll be right back." I rush out of the room and down the staircase and the view of kitchen comes in sight.

I spring open the cabinet, and rummage in the dark through all the rattling bottles until I find one labeled Tylenol. I'm back upstairs in a matter of minutes with a bottle of water.

I find him resting his head down on the pillows, his eyes closed, and altogether miserable looking. "Here take this."

He takes the orange pills from my hands and swallows them back, snapping the plastic seal of the bottle with a quick flick of his wrist, with a gulp of water.

"You didn't feel sick earlier?" I ask again, as I rest the water on the bedside table.

"No, I felt perfectly fine." He wags his eyebrows at me, and I blush a deep crimson. _How could I forget just how perfect he had been?_

"Then what could it be?" He gives my question some thought and when he meets my eyes once more, I can't exactly read the expression in his if I had to take a guess, I'd say he realized something he hadn't thought of before.

"I'm sorry I woke you, come. Go back to sleep."

"But," my protects are futile.

"Come, I'll hold you." I move to rest my head on his broad chest, and sigh. I'll get to the bottom of it soon enough.

* * *

><p>The bed on left side is cold when I get up again. The covers are drawn back and wrinkled with haste. Jacob hasn't been in bed all night.<p>

I look to the bathroom door in our bedroom and listen to see if he's more sick than he believed after all. The light switch is turned off, and below the door, the space between it and the floor is dark. I rub my sleepy eyes, and decide to venture out into the house to find him.

I can only see the outline of the staircase as I descend upon the steps, my eyes struggling to see with any real clarity. I wonder where he's gone off to, and if he couldn't sleep, _why didn't he just wake me?_

I start to become anxious when I see the living room vacant in the nightshade of dawn. The couch is as rumpled as we had left it earlier, the thin faded quilt still tucked into the side of the cushions.

I'm cold in only my chemise and shorts so I pull it out and am met with little resistance before I drape the soft fabric around my shoulders.

"Jake," I call out softly, hoping to hear any noise to suggest he's here and he's alright, before I move to enter the kitchen.

The chairs are turned inward under the rounded off table where we sit to eat breakfast every morning, and the cabinet that I had only opened up hours before is still ajar.

I turn towards the front door, and my heart begins to pound. I step slowly until I stand, only inches from the peep hole in the center of the wood. It takes me more than a moment to decide whether or not I should look through, but curiosity gets the best of me.

Hesitantly, I bring my left eye close to the eye piece, becoming more scared that something is going to pop up unexpectedly the closer I get. But all I see is the dry patch of land between the house and the stables.

I don't know what to do. There's never been a moment where I haven't gone outside without Jacob. I feel as if I'm breaking a rule that I know I shouldn't when I reach to turn the knob after twisting the clip downward to open.

I feel my breathing become harder as I pull the door open, and I hiss as the cold wind brushes against my bare legs. My throat is tight and my mouth is dry. _Should I be doing this?_

"Jake?" I call helplessly. I curse when there's no answer, and call his name out again. I shake my head as the wind answers me with a rough gust. I feel myself becoming more and more anxious as the time passes by. I glance to the side of the house and notice his Rabbit is still parked and he's not inside.

I'm sure the temperature in the house has decreased significantly with the door being left as wide as it has in my grip, but I almost don't notice the cold as my feet touch the worn steps of the porch. _I need to find him._

I push the door until it hits the frame with a small thud. It's not completely closed, but I don't look back to firmly secure it. _Maybe he's in the barn._

Though there's no reasonable explanation as to why he would be in the stables at this time of night, but it's the only other place I haven't looked yet. He has to be there, I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't.

I hurry, the cold and my fear propelling me forward. I'm not walking, but running at the sight of the wooden doors. I lift the makeshift plank of wood that keeps it closed, and push through the quilt long forgotten as the wind blows it off me.

I immediately smell the hay, the scent heavy in my nose and in my lungs when I breathe. The barn is dark, and I can only see the tops of each horse's head as they sleep. I look to the floor, to see if I can find Jacob's long body, but find nothing even remotely close to his size and stature.

I feel the tears come to my eyes. _Where is he?_

I turn back and place the plank back, locking up the barn for the night, not noticing as the quilt become caught underneath the doors. I search, scanning for anything in the far off distance and almost start full out panicking until I see a small shape come around the bend of the Rabbit.

My heart picks up and I can't breathe. I start to walk fast now, the shape familiar enough for me to recognize as an animal, but not its exact species. I don't want to disturb it, but come close without it being startled. I am almost to the front door, when it turns its head and I can see that its a wolf. It bares it's menacing teeth at me, and the look in its eyes startles me enough for me to stumble and fall to the ground.

"No, please," I cry as it descends further to where I am laid in the ground, my hands pushing the ground underneath me.

My fingernails dig into the dirt, and I feel my chin quiver. "Don't hurt me, please."

Suddenly the wolf backs off and runs, it's long russet hind legs kicking back with speed behind the house. It howls loudly, the sound of pain and ache and anger loud in the fading night.

It takes me more than a few moments to calm my breathing, and my heart rate to go down before I can fully lay back on the ground, the danger seemingly over.

I realize I have relaxed too soon when I hear the weight of boots on the dry dead grass. I look up and see the hard angry lines of Jacob's face as he stalks toward where I lay. I am too overcome with relief that he's safe that I feel his hard sudden smack on my face almost too late.

I reach up with my hand to feel my burning skin, the blood rushing to the surface. "Jake," I cry in both hurt and relief.

He doesn't let up as he hits me again, this time hitting the side of my head as I move into the fetal position, my arms held up in defense. I feel my sobs as they move through my body, forceful and loud.

"Please, please stop!" His legs come on either side of me and his hands grip my forearms roughly, his fingers leaving bruising pains. He delivers another smack and the whole left side of my face feels too big, too swollen for me to even speak another word.

"What did you think you were doing, Bella? Huh?" His hands reach for my face, and his touch hurts as I try to pull away.

"Jake," I barely make out, my lip bleeding, the salted blood pooling on my tongue. The metal taste makes me almost gag.

"You were trying to run, weren't you? The moment I'm out the house, you think you can get away. You can't." His eyes are searching mine, trying to tell me that there's no way to rid myself of him. They look past his abuse and into my soul. Ingraining his ownership.

I keep on with my crying, and don't stop even as I feel him dragging me into the house. I don't kick or scream but accept that this is happening.

He pulls me forcefully to stand and I stumble all the way up the stairs and into our bedroom. The door slams with a swift kick of his boot.

He pushes my frail body to the bed, and adjusts me so I'm on my hands and knees on the bed, my head down. "Hold the headboard." I cry harder now, knowing what's to come next.

I hear his belt moving against the loops of his jeans before he doubles it in his grip. He toys with me as he lets the leather touch the skin of my thighs with light feather touches. "Please Jake, it's not what you think," I beg.

"Shut your mouth, Bella. Right now or I'll give it to you harder." My hands shake on the wooden bars of the headboard, and I almost collapse when I feel him hit the bed with a hard swing of the belt in warning.

I scream when the first lash hits the backs of my thighs, and feel the second soon follows. My tears have mixed with the liquid that runs from my nose and follows into my mouth to mix with the blood from my lip.

I can't keep my body up, and it jumps in anticipation when the belt cuts through the air before hitting my skin. When he's hit me so many times I don't know the number, I'm doubtful that I'm not bleeding. My skin is raw and burning. I can make out nothing but the pain. Blistering hot, and pulsating.

His belt buckle clanks as it hits the floor. His knees dip into the bed, and I shake from having him so close. His hands are cold when they touch my reddened flesh, and I cry out in hopes he's finished. But as his hands reach for my panties, I realize it isn't over.

He tugs them down, leaving them to tangle my knees together, and then his fingers are probing at my entrance. His touch is degrading, and bile rises in my throat as he feels me through my lips. His thumb brushes the button that usually brings me over the edge.

"Jake, please stop." His hands move to take my hands off the headboard, and to lift the shirt off my back. A loud sob stops him in his motions but he continues to reach for my breasts regardless.

"On the headboard." I lift my weak arms up, and grip the wood once more. I think of the wolf, and wish he had finished me off when he could.

His hand smacks me on my behind, and I see dark eyes of the wolf. Jacob pushes down his zipper, and tugs his jeans off, his muscular legs hitting mine. I wince, and hear him stroke his shaft, his breathing hard.

His takes himself in his hand and strokes his head through my lips. I whimper as he pushes his hips into mine, and takes me.

He starts pounding into me from behind and I know I'll have hand prints on my hips tomorrow. I bite my lips as I feel him going harder on me, making me hurt inside from his brutal and numbing thrusts.

He smacks me on the behind again, his hand leaving a stinging sensation. He pulls out and just as I think he's done with punishing me, he pushes back in, balls deep, until my head starts to hit the wall under the hallowed post of bed frame.

"Jake," I've never felt so impaled, full and breathless. I'm shaking, and my body feels like it's burning from the inside out. It feels like I've cried all night, but he's still stabbing, hard and fast, leaving his mark so deep, I know I'll belong to him forever.

"Say it, Bella."

"I love you." His hand comes down, and smacks me on my rear.

"What else?"

"I'm sorry." His nails start cutting into my thigh, with the force he's squeezing my right leg with.

"Come on, Bella. You know that's not the only thing I want to hear." He smacks me this time on my thigh, and I can feel the blood push down and then rise back under my skin, from his blow. The belt marks glow with hurt as he thrusts and brushes against them with his weight.

"I'm yours," my voice breaks. I remember the tortured howl of the wolf as Jacob bites my neck, and finds his release inside me. I'm lost in the sound.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I can't promise when I'll post again. I'll write bits here and there, but will only post when I have enough for another chapter. I hope this gave you something to think about, the plot is building tremendously in my head. Please leave a review if you appreciated my efforts.**


	5. Shadow

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Warning: This and many other chapters of this story include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.**

* * *

><p>The first thing I register when I open my eyes is the intense and brutal soreness in my legs. The flesh of my thighs is tender and when I shift, even the weight of the blanket on my skin has me gnawing on my bottom lip in pain.<p>

I take deep breaths as I try to sit up but as soon as I start, I see his back in front of me, and I can tell by his posture that he's leaning his elbows on his knees and his hands are probably clasped in front of him. His ears perks up as I let out a soft but broken whimper.

"Bella!" He turns his head and his bloodshot eyes startle me. He hasn't slept and his whole body is coiled with tension. He comes around the side of the bed to kneel on the floor and though the bed's elevated, his head comes up above mine. "Jake."

"What baby? What do you need?"

"The bathroom," I reply and then before I know it, he's hooking his arm around my waist and he's thrown mine over his shoulders. I take small, hesitant steps with his help, bracing myself for the second my weight hits the toilet seat.

I cover my face instantly as the agonizing pain spreads throughout my lower body and find as much as I had to urinate before, I can't at first. Partly from the shock and partly because I'm hyper aware of Jacob standing no more than a foot away.

"I c-can't with you standing there." He gives me a look as to say, 'after all we've been through, I'd think you'd be able to pee in front me.' I sigh, almost hysterically as I force it out of me. I flush the toilet with one hand, and try not to wince as I gingerly wipe the inner skin of me with paper.

Though he tries to hide his face from me, I know Jacob is weighed down with the events of last night, so much so that when I ask for a bath, he strips himself of his clothes and lowers us both into the bath. The scalding water immediately eases the immense discomfort I feel, and I don't push away from his intimate embrace. My naked breasts press against his wet chest and rest there as he holds my head to the curvature between his neck and shoulder.

"Bella, last night...last night I know I lost it. There's nothing more than I would like to do than to say that I'm sorry, but I_ can't." _This is when I start to cry, no longer holding back the tears that have tugged at the edges of my vision. I can't believe what he's saying.

"But, Jake-"

"Let me finish. I had to teach you a lesson. I told you the last time what would happen if you tried to run."

"I wasn't running away. I was looking for you."

"Don't lie to me. I know you'd like nothing better than to be rid of me, but I love you, Bella. I love you so much than even when I think about you leaving me, I'm afraid of what I'll do."

I press a kiss on his neck despite all good reason. I think he's crying, his body causing ripples to travel along to surface of the water. "I would never leave you, Jake. You're all I have." The words escape my mouth before I can rein them back in. I'm making a mistake by reassuring him, but know that even though I would swear to the death that they're not true, I know they are. I've been trying to fool him for so long, I'm starting to believe everything I've wanted him to.

"I swear you're making me go crazy." His tone takes on defeated sound. His mouth rests near my ear and his voice rumbles through my chest as if I'm the one speaking the words.

What did they say about abusive relationships? _The abuser makes the victim feel as if everything is their fault. _And at this moment, I did feel as if I was to blame. Not for not making the right decision last night, but for even catching his eye all those months earlier.

* * *

><p>He doesn't let his eyes linger on the myriad of bruises on my backside. Instead he detaches himself as he's forced to inspect each mark and laceration. He takes great care not to make the pain worse as he applies the healing ointment with his fingers. I hide my face in the pillow underneath me and occasionally stuff the material of the pillowcase into my mouth when his motions become too much.<p>

He secures each dressing with firm pulls and tucks before he attempts to pull a shirt over my head. I turn to lay on my side and watch then as he puts everything back in the makeshift first aid kit he found in his father's old closest.

The air is heavy with a sense of exhaust and ambivalence. I don't know what to say to break the silence and neither does he.

* * *

><p>Rape. <em>Is that what it was? <em>I trace the letters R-A-P-E onto the white sheet with my fingers.

If it was, it wasn't like the first time. It was different. It had made us closer, bound us in ways nothing else could.

Had it been rape? No. _Yes._

* * *

><p>After picking at the small stack pancakes Jacob had made me, I set aside the sticky plate on the bedside table. I've been assigned bed rest, and though I don't want to move, this bed has become a prison inside a prison. But he assures me he's going to get something that will occupy my time as I heal.<p>

True to his word, Jacob carries the small television from the downstairs living room and motions to me with his neck that he's going to rest it on the bedside table. I take the wretched plate back, and the syrup small doesn't leave my nose.

He brings an extension cord that's held together with electrical tape, the only thing that holds the dangerous charge within and plugs in into the outlet by the bathroom door.

I'm struck by a sudden vision of the tape lifting, and a current traveling up the length of his arm, rendering him momentarily immobile. His hair stands up on it's end, and then I remember it's only a daydream. I'm unsure if I'm disappointed or relieved. But then I decide I'm touched by his sick thoughtfulness.

He sets a cardboard box filled with VHS's on the bed, his eyes cast down from mine, his fingers looped through the slots on the sides. I smooth away the blanket that rests on my stiff legs and reach for a movie to distract myself from the bleak look on his face. He stands there, almost at a loss at what to do next.

"I've always loved John Bender," I say as I hold up a copy of _The Breakfast Club. "Being bad feels pretty good, huh?" _We both quote at the same. A smile breaks across his face and I can't hide my own grin fast enough before he kisses me with all he's got.

* * *

><p>He's careful not to hold me too close, his body brushes my back only a few times throughout the film, though he rests his jaw on my left shoulder. His breath is warm on the side of my face and the few times he laughs, I find it infectious. He doesn't even try but he causes pulls at my heartstrings.<p>

His forearm rests between my breasts, his left hand curled towards my collarbone. He's warm and comforting without meaning to be and I find that tension from before has dissipated completely.

At the part in the movie when Claire finally works up the courage to admit she feels something for Bender, and kisses him on the neck in the supply closest, I feel Jacob's lips brush kisses into my skin. His arm shifts from my chest and his hand comes down to caress and squeeze at my breasts, eliciting a deep throat-ed moan.

There is no disgust in my response, but instead an eagerness I would have never anticipated. I feel his erection strain against his rough jeans, and I can tell he's struggling not to fully push into me.

Though he's hurt me in ways other people couldn't even begin to comprehend, I can't seem to tear myself completely from him. I should fight him, I should be able to resist instead of surrender but it's already too late.

I'm his, even if I don't want to be.

* * *

><p>Days pass, and it becomes bearable to walk again. The second Jacob gives me permission to leave the bedroom, I take it without hesitation. I wear a soft cotton nightgown as I lounge around in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking my second mug of hot chocolate.<p>

I hear his steps on the staircase before he finally emerges from the basement. In his arms, he holds a basket of freshly washed clothes, and I can smell the familiar scent of laundry detergent that lingers on his skin. He kicks the door shut and takes a quick glance at my feet before he asks, "Baby?"

"Hmm?"

"Go put some socks on, it's cold. You'll get sick." He seems somewhat anxious, and when he's like this, I know not to question or argue with him. Being a good girl saves me a lot of hurt, I've learned.

I rush up the stairs, ignoring the dull flashes of discomfort in the backs of my legs, and find a pair of white knees socks and slip them on. I hear Jacob walk into the room from where I'm sitting on the floor, and turn my head to find him unloading the clothes onto the bed. He starts to separate them into piles and sets forth on folding my pants and dresses.

The hot chocolate gets to me and as I walk past him to go to the bathroom, his arm comes around me and presses me to his side. He sits and lays me down on his lap, and with his eyes commands me to protest when he reaches for my face to kiss me.

Ever since that cold night, this has been his way of connecting with me, his way of telling me, showing me that's he's sorry in his own way. Though he'd deny it if I ever were to ask him, I know on some level he's ashamed of himself.

He pulls his mouth away from me after pecking me once, twice and then the third and final time. He moves to rest his forehead on mine, closing his eyes. The muscles in his arms are taut, he breathes heavily as if he has something on his chest and he's can't quite get it out. "Jake, what's going on with you?"

"Do you know what today is, Bella?"

"Sure. It's Thursday."

"I mean the date." His eyes flash with guilt. I'm confused, and my face tells him so. "It's the thirteenth."

"Oh." It's my birthday. I can't believe I've forgotten.

It becomes clear enough. He's expecting an outburst. He thinks I'm going to cry, scream and fight with new found vigor, as if spending this day with him and away from my real home makes any difference in what we've been through and as if it's going to wash it out of existence.

I struggle with what I'm going to say next. My hands rest on the base of his neck, and my fingers still in their feeling of his hair. I can't meet his eyes.

"Bella-"

"Are you going to bake me a cake?" He's caught completely off guard. His mouth opens and closes several times before he finally asks, "What kind would you like?"

"Can you manage Red Velvet?" I think he's the happiest I've ever seen him when he says he'll try his hardest.

* * *

><p>Though he insists that he knows perfectly well how to bake a cake, and that I don't have to help with my own cake, I shove my way into the kitchen. We playfully nudge each other as we work. He stirs the batter and I squeeze the intense red food coloring that's this cakes signature, until I've used the entire plastic vial.<p>

When we're done with the initial job that comes before baking, we decide it's going to be a layered cake, and pour the batter into three pans. I bend to put them onto the racks in the oven when I feel his smack come down on my rear.

I let out a cry, clutching at my backside with both hands, and whirl around to face him with a look of hurt and shock. He realizes his mistake a moment too late, after my eyes have started to sting. "Fuck, Bella. I forgot."

Though his smack didn't hurt nearly as bad as the one's he had delivered when he was full of maddening rage, the fear I felt when he struck me was just as bad if not worse. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." His hands move to cover mine, and he attempts to soothe the hurt away with tender strokes of his thumbs.

I flinch away from his touch, looking anywhere but into his eyes. "Jacob, I don't want you to hit me anymore."

"The only times I've ever hit you is when you've disobeyed me. I was only teasing you just now."

"That doesn't justify anything. If you want me to be committed to you, you can't treat me that way anymore."

"Bella-"

"It's abuse Jacob." This time I stare straight into his eyes. He doesn't like the term, and even visibly tries to denies it. "If you love me, you'll start treating me with dignity." I leave the kitchen, ignoring his outstretched hand and useless pleas as I walk past him and into the living room.

I take the afghan off the sofa and drape it around my shoulders. I barely notice that the TV isn't even on as I stare at the dark, placid screen.

* * *

><p>I sit on the couch, my legs tucked underneath my legs, and rest my face in the crook my arm. I start thinking about my last birthday, my eighteenth.<p>

_I had spent it with Edward and Charlie at this restaurant that we could only afford because of Edward's father Carlisle. He had said he'd cover the expense as he couldn't attend our little gathering with Esme because he had an out of state meeting. He was as convinced as Edward that we were going to end up going to Dartmouth together and end up getting married in a few years time. _

_The intense pressure that Charlie put on me to get serious about Edward had made me feel alone. He about urged me on a daily basis to get on his family's good side, and become friend's with Alice as well as try to bond with Edward as he often called the house to talk to me. I almost always begged Charlie from behind the receiver to tell him I was busy or not feeling well._

_He often took it to himself to remind me, his mustache seeming menacing as he did so, that "Edward's going to be gone one day if you take to long to decide whether or not you're going to be with him. He's a good kid, Bells. Give him a chance, and you'll see that he's what you need."_

_I assured him that I did _not _need him or any man to feel right about myself or make my decisions, blatantly challenging him in the process as I dismissed the prospect of having a relationship with one of the Cullen's. I didn't trust them, unlike like my father who about __worshiped__ the ground they walked on. Money be damned if I ever was to even consider tying myself to their family._

_But the day came, and Charlie had accepted Edward's invitation to celebrate my birthday with him. I had been beyond angry that he did so without even consulting me. _

_As we had ate, myself situated between the both of them, I had felt extremely uncomfortable. I didn't mumble a word until I saw Charlie stand to leave us. "Show her good time Edward, I have to get to the station." I begged him silently with my eyes to not leave me with him, but all I got in response was a hard look as if to say 'Don't mess this up.'_

_I tried to make a move to join him with Edward's fingers curled themselves around my wrist and pulled me back into the plush cushion of the booth and against him. "Wouldn't you like to have some dessert?"_

_"Edward, really it's fine. I'm kind of full already." The steak had been tender and oozing flavor. Edward had clicked his tongue in approval after insisting to both Charlie and I that we could have anything we wanted. I had taken full advantage of his seemingly generous offer. _

_"Waiter," he made a gesture, and then came poor Mike Newton. As soon as he had seen us walk inside after checking with the reservation desk, he had known he would be in for it. Edward was just one of those people that pestered and didn't give up until he had what he wanted. And whatever it took for him to get what he wanted, he would do it, despite how cruel it would be._

_I pitied Mike. He had only gotten this job because as all of Forks had found out, his mother was sleeping with the owner. There was hardly ever business in Newton's Sporting Goods store, and it had closed. She took her opportunity to make money, any way she could and even I had to respect her for her cunning._

_"Is there anything else you would like?" A faint redness crept up on Mike's ears. I knew he felt humiliated at this moment, not only because he was the help, but the person he had to serve was the same person who constantly bullied him in the hallways of school. _

_It had started right after Mike had asked me to prom. Edward had already started to bother me with little notes on my locker, and roses at my door. While I refused him, he knew I had considered saying yes to Mike. Though I couldn't dance well enough to save my life, Mike had been different than all the other boys at school. He was sweet, kind and extremely helpful especially when I first had trouble to adjusting to a new life in Forks. _

_I'd left my mother, tired of having my life revolve around Phil's career. The constant traveling had taken a toll on me, the unstable home life driving me out of Arizona where I much preferred the sun to the constant drizzle of Forks. _

_I found myself confiding to Mike, while he helped me with my Trigonometry homework on sunny days when we could sit on the benches outside of class. He always listened and helped me piece together what I was feeling. He agreed with my statement that 'My choices were constantly being taken away from me.' I'd even shared a kiss with him once in the library after he read aloud a poem he had written about me._

_I watched as Edward leaned toward him to whisper into his ear. I could see the tightness and alarm in Mike's being, the exchange planting a sick feeling in my stomach. Was he being mean to him? Was he threatening him or gloating about our forced 'date'?_

_I felt embarrassed and even like I had betrayed Mike to be even sitting next to Edward. We didn't talk anymore. I missed him and I knew it was all Edward's fault, and maybe even Emmett's, Edward's brothers fault as he had cornered him more than once for even looking in my direction at lunch._

_Edward finished and then confidently wrapped his arm around my shoulders as if he owned me. Mike glanced in my direction, and I saw a strong emotion I couldn't place in his eyes. Edward slipped something into his hand just as I broke away from his gaze. _

_He managed a polite smile and said, "I'll be right back with it." _

_As soon as he'd left and was out of earshot, I turned to Edward and asked, "What did you say to him?"_

_"I just made a special request. That's all." His green eyes pulsed with mischief. I felt apprehension start to build deep in my gut. His lips curled at my expression into a lop-sided smirk that would have dropped anyone's panties but mine. It was disgusting just how self-assured he was._

_I tried something else. I masked my face with a look of pleading, "Edward, can't we just leave? Please." I touched his hand that rested on my left thigh with soft fingers. I hoped they seemed seductive. He brushed off my attempt with a roll of his eyes. He pressed a smothering kiss into my hair that let me know he was the one calling the shots._

_"Oh, Isabella. Tonight's going to be one to remember." I didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. I didn't respond, instead held my tongue, all the while picturing Charlie's disapproving eyes in my mind. _

_Mike came back quickly enough, in his hands a couple of flute glasses filled with bubbly champagne. "Edward, I'm not legal yet."_

_"It's fine, Bella. The owner knows my father." I shut my mouth, thinking of something else that could convince him to not pressure me to drink, but came up short. _

_I became surprised as I turned my attention to the trolley Mike wheeled from behind him. On it sat a three layer cake one would think of to have at their wedding. It was adorned with several swirling rows of colored roses, the petals looking soft and delicate as if they were real instead of whipped __butter cream__. _

_"The cake is vanilla, just like you asked." Mike looked away while he said to Edward, more than the both of us and only met my eyes when his hand was pulled. Edward stuffed a handful of bills into his hand and then dismissed him with a slight shove._

_"This is too much Edward. We're not going to eat all of this." He had the money to waste, and he was clearly comfortable with reminding me just how much could get him his way. Sometimes I was afraid that he would give up all this wooing me and just buy me from my father just like all those historical romance novels that started out with both protagonists hating each other._

_"Come have a piece." He took the gleaming knife Mike had set next to his hand, and cut through the bottom layer with ease. He licked the __butter cream__ frosting from his fingers as he handed me my plate. He winked and I couldn't help but blush at the suggestive sight of his tongue on his skin. _

_I closed my eyes as I took the first bite. "Oh my god, this is amazing." He chuckled at my reaction, his bronze hair catching him in the eyes when he tilted his head back in humor. _

_"Good. Enjoy it. And don't forget to have a drink," he said, jerking his head toward the flute by my right hand. I said to hell with it, and gulped it done to the last drop. When he didn't reach to drink his own, I gave him a questioning look. He shook his head and smiled before leaning in for a kiss._

_I found I didn't struggle, but instead welcomed his lips and tongue. _

"Bella, it's ready." I'm taken out of my thoughts.

"I'm coming!"

_He had helped me up from the booth when I found my legs shook when I tried to move them. He had me out of the restaurant so fast that I didn't even register that we weren't inside anymore when he took out his keys and unlocked the door of his Volvo. He deposited me on the seat, and I stared at him with glaze eyes as he secured me in with the __seat belt__. His hand lingered on my chest a moment too long as he said to himself, "I'll finally have you."_

_My eyes began to blink closed, and I fought hard to keep them open. My mouth felt like dry sandpaper, my limbs sluggish and immobile. _

_"Ed-Edward." _

_"Shh, we're almost at my house."_

_I only resurfaced a few moments throughout it all. Flashes of his eyes, looking in mine, and then closed as his head was thrown back in ecstasy. He had positioned my neck on a pillow, while I was on my stomach on the bed, and his was thrusting into my mouth. _

_I went inside myself again, and then caught the image of his head between my legs. I felt his tongue reach out in small surges, his fingers relentless in their invasion of my body. His teeth toyed with my skin. _

_I awoke on my knees my head on my arms and felt his eyes inspect my dark crevices. I drowned in the drugs until they took me completely out of reality._

_Later that night when they wore off, I could hear him speaking into his phone on the end of the bed. His naked back appearing a bleached shadow in the darkness. "She felt tired, so she decided to sleep over." He listens to the person on the other line, then laughs, "Yes, Chief. She's staying in Alice's room." There's a pause. "Yes, alright. Goodnight, Charlie."_

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews are always appreciated.**


	6. You

**A/N: **I **want to thank everyone that left a review for the last chapter, I appreciated every one of them! You guys are lovely! This chapter, personally, was very hard to write. The first scene was written quite quickly, and from then on I waited about a week before I continued. The rest are spliced scenes I've worked on since Monday so I hope it reads consistently enough for you. See you at the bottom.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Warning: This and many other chapters of this story include very explicit and graphic scenes that are not meant for those who are underage. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you do not read.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.**

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><p>We haven't made love since that night he first hit me with his belt. It's been over two weeks since then, and I know that Jacob's felt hesitant to try to touch me in that way. But that doesn't mean he hasn't pet me when I've needed it. Just last night when I had made a move to turn on my side to face him, the hand on my hip stopped me.<p>

I turned my head to peer at his face, and found his eyes filled with unabashed desire. "Jake," I begged silently. He knew and felt it in the air that I wanted him.

"Shh, baby." His hand reached underneath my nightgown and tugged at my panties until they stopped mid-thigh. His hand overwhelmed my sex, completely covering it. His thumb pushed and pressed against my clitoris, rubbing it furiously, working it until my hips couldn't help but to buckle uncontrollably. He let his fingers slip and slid against my outer lips, where they had become swollen with need, before they entered me.

I was a wet mess for him. I couldn't help the pleasure induced mewls that came from deep within my throat. I climaxed easily, and I knew he felt the tightening of my muscles around his strong fingers, but he didn't dare stop.

He surged on with his frenzied motions, my clit beyond sensitive now. His touch was almost too much to bear. I climaxed once more under before I began to beg for him to stop. Instead he moved his other hand to palm my behind before he started to push into that forbidden place. I jumped at the foreign, alien feeling, horrified.

"Shh, I promise it'll feel good." The sensation wasn't how I had expected it to be. I had thought it would have felt painful, but instead it felt strange, adding to my arousal. "Oh, god Jake."

"That's it, Bella. Right there, right?" His fingers pushed at this one spot over and over inside my pussy until I had tears in my eyes from the intensity of it all. I could feel my backside clench around his lone finger, almost sucking him back in when he pulled out. I couldn't hold back much longer, I came, my body feeling like an electrical charge turned haywire.

He rubbed his hand, still wet with my honey against my skin when he was finished. My breath came out in pants, my mouth dry from all that had been brought out and demanded from my body.

Jacob kissed my neck and my sweaty brow, his expression when he leaned over me to look me in the eyes, one of awe. "I love you." Where I should have been the one feeling the most vulnerable, I could hear in his voice the yearning for me to return that love, unashamed.

"I love your hands." Though I didn't respond the way he would have like, he still let out a loud laugh at the exaggerated dreamy eyes I gave him, though they matched the exact feeling I was experiencing. He sobered up after a moment, looking concerned.

"I didn't hurt you, did I? The last time?" He asked, worry in his voice. He left his hand where it was, still touching the skin of my labia softly, his sticking fingers teasing the inflamed area.

"No, Jake. It was just surprising. No one's ever done that to me before." He traced his thumb near my clit once more, hovering over me. "I never thought that you would want that from me."

"I've been thinking about it." I could hear the reluctant honesty in his voice. He was ashamed of his wants. I tried to reassure him, "I would like to try it with you."

He gave me a surprised look, and I could see red creep up on his ears. I almost never saw this side of him. "We'd have to take it slow."

"There's no rush." He stroked my hair softly then, his voice a gentle whisper. "I'd wait as long as you wanted. Even you just letting me touch you after what I've done, I can't tell you what it means."

I reached up with my own hand and pulled him close enough so that I could kiss his lips. "I know, Jake."

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><p>I run my hands along his jaw, feeling the scruff that's grown in the past few days he hasn't shaved. "Bella?"<p>

"Mhmm?" I move my fingertips over the hair that continues down his russet neck, pushing them against the grain, listening the sounds my skin elicits when they brush each follicle. I feel his eyes on me, warming me to my core.

"This is like the third time today you've felt at my jaw. Are you trying to tell me to shave?"

"No, you dummy." I pat his face playfully, smiling coyly. He narrows his eyes back at me, hooking his hands underneath where my thighs rest on the counter by the sink. I've interrupted him washing the dishes, and he's completely forgotten them now.

"Then what is it?" He nudges my face with his nose. He takes a nip at my neck, before he pulls back.

"I've been thinking about how it would feel like to have you brush your jaw against my skin, while you taste me." I watch the bulge in his pants grow so big until it strains against the zipper of his jeans. My skin flushes under his gaze, and I practically melt into a puddle when he asks, "How about right here, baby?"

I nod, watching as a grin graces his lips. "You can't get enough of me, can you?" I shake my head, fighting back a giggle when he attacks the skin of my chest with slobbery wet kisses. I'm wearing a thin camisole, the neckline low enough for the beginning of each breast to pop through. He bites my skin, and I feel the sensual graze of his teeth. I shiver and then moan when he presses himself roughly against me.

He moves to go on his knees before me, and he reaches to slip off my boy-shorts. "Fuck, Bella." I'm glistening wet, dripping on the counter top. I hold the edges, balancing myself, but there's no need for it as Jacob reaches for me to bring me closer to his mouth. He rubs his fingers up and down my skin, and I spread my legs wide for him until I can feel the air turn cold inside me. He leans forward and kisses me with vigor, his lips rubbing me in the most stimulating manner.

"_Ahh_," I clutch his head, my hands grabbing greedily at his hair. He eats at me like a starved man, like I'm the answer to everything he finds troubling in life. "Jacob!"

He reaches with his right hand to hold mine, and I squeeze it with all my might. I spasm underneath his tongue, and wonder how this can be wrong when it feels so right.

I lean my head on the cabinet behind me, and let him coax the last surges of pleasure out of my body before I open my eyes to look at him. He licks me once more before he takes his face away, and I can see the wetness that coats his skin. I blush red hot, and reach out with my thumb to brush some of the stickiness that leaks from his lips. I press it into his mouth, and he sucks, his eyes on mine. The look in them tells me that I can deny my feelings for him as long as I want, but he and I both know better.

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><p>"Jacob?"<p>

"Mhmm?" He's wiping down the counter, and I watch him, standing on shaky legs by the table. My hands hold the wood behind me for support and I breathe, still feeling the aftershocks of my orgasm. My skin is flushed, my breathing somewhat labored. I know this is the best time to ask him what's been on my mind, that he won't suspect anything too crazy.

"What's down there? In the basement?" I nod my head towards the door on my right side. The tendons in his forearms strain underneath his skin as he scrubs the counter with rounded motions, the sponge spreading suds all along the worn granite. He looks up at me, and I try my best not to let the true extent of my curiosity become easily apparent. For some time I've watched him come from the basement with the look of impending dread written on his face.

I know that when he wants to avoid me, he goes down there to do mundane tasks such as the laundry. But I know there's more and I want to see all of him, all that he hides. It's only fair after everything that I've had to sacrifice within myself to accept that this now my life.

"A lot of my father's old things, I brought them down there after he died. I didn't want to have to see them anymore." I walk to him, and lace my fingers through his wet ones, "What else?"

He glances up at me from where his gaze has been focused on some far space of the wall. "The washer, dryer. The freezer where I keep all the meat." He bites his bottom lip, and pulls his hand away. There's more and I want to find out. I hug him from behind, resting my face on the warm plane of his back.

"Baby?" I ask. My hands stroke down the front part of his T-shirt, feeling each hard ridge of muscle. "I want to see." He stills under my hands, and I'm worried I've lost him and then quickly add a sweet, "Please?"

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><p>He grudgingly leads me down the creaky staircase, and I'm afraid for each step as I place my weight on it. I'm careful not to get ahead of myself and accidentally knock into him. It's dark, and the only hint of light emanates from the sliver of space where I didn't close the door to the kitchen all the way.<p>

"Do you promise you won't get mad?" His question makes me furrow my brow in confusion. My heart races at the unknown possibilities of what could be down here, but before I can open my mouth to say something, he flicks the switch on the wood paneled wall. I have no words for what I see.

The entire wall before us is covered in photographs, ones that look to have been taken with an old style professional camera. I see my face from all different angles, all at different times of the day. In some I'm fully clothed and in others, I'm lucky to have angled my body so that my most private of areas have been missed by the camera by a millisecond.

There's a desk to the side of the wall, covered with sketch paper, and charcoal pencils that have been used down to the very end. The first drawing I see is of my sleeping face, and when I reach out to lift the crinkly paper, the one underneath details me with my legs open, my head thrown back in defeat. My face is blank and it looks like he smudged a line of charcoal across where my eyes should be.

The lines look angry, impulsive and dark. I'm surprised his pencil didn't cut right through with the intense pressure he had applied. "When did you draw this one?"

I hold up the paper, and look at his face for the first time since we've been down here. "That night, after you fell asleep." The night where he beat and raped me. The night he had made it very clear that I was more of a possession than a living, breathing person.

"Am I nothing to you, Jacob?" I ask, trying to hold back the sob in my throat. He reaches out to touch my face but I smack his hand away before he can.

"I love you, Bella. I love you more than anything in this world." I nod my head, numb with disgust. I wave his drawing around, and tell him, "This isn't love. If you loved me, you would fucking treat me like the human I am, instead of keeping me locked up here with you day and night.

"You wouldn't draw pictures of me where I'm more dead than alive. I'm not some fucking doll for you to play with."

"You're not, Bella. You're not," he's pleading with me, but inside he knows I only speak the sick truth. He controls every moment of every day that I'm forced to live here with him in the middle of nowhere and I know that even if we had met under completely different circumstances, he'd still like it to be this way.

"When did you take these?" I gesture to the photographs. Some have slanted edges, and are mere cutout's of my face. These must have been taken when I was with another person; the daylight reflects in the locks of my hair, and some red steaks through the brown.

"I watched you for months." He looks at the photographs with reverence, as if this wall is his lifetime accomplishment. As if it's an honest to god's truth work of art. "I tried every time to build up the courage to go out and talk to you, but I was afraid you wouldn't even give me the time of day.

"I constantly battled with myself, I knew that I couldn't just let you pass me by. I saw Edward kept coming by the house, and I knew I had to make my move soon enough. One day I overheard him and your father talking. You were in the kitchen eating breakfast, he was coming to drive you to school.

"He said, 'Charlie, I need to ask you something very important and I hope that you'll give me your blessing.' In his hand he had a black velvet box. He was going to ask you to marry him, Bella. Right before graduation." He wants me to understand, and on some weird level I do, "I couldn't let him."

"It was that night that you...?"

"Yes. I knew Charlie was going to be working late, and that it wouldn't take long before you decided to go to bed. I had a full tank of gas, and syringe filled with drugs to make you sleep, the same that I have to the horses when I have to change their shoes."

I let the tears trail down my face silently. "You went through all my things?"

"I knew I didn't have time to buy you all new stuff, and that I was risking my skin being so impulsive, but I made sure I wore gloves. There were no fingerprints. I even wore a fucking hair-net." I'm sitting in the chair that rests by the desk, and he crouches in front of me. I don't push him away when he reaches to hold my face in his hands.

"How did no one see you?"

"I wore all black, and I wrapped you in a blanket and put you in the truck of my car. I was afraid you wouldn't get enough air to breathe, but you made it in one piece." Hearing him talk of how he kidnapped me so casually and so openly leaves me with a sense of bewilderment. I never once gave thought to how easy it must have been for him to be morally alright with his actions.

"I know what it must have been like, waking up in a strange man's house-"

"No, no you don't Jacob."

"Bella, I just needed you. I couldn't control myself. You were just too beautiful, too caring and loving for me to turn away. I fought with myself all the time, but I decided I wouldn't any longer. I wanted you to love me - I still do."

"How can I love you when act as if everything you did was right? It wasn't, and this isn't." I wave between us, and watch as his eyes harden. I feel his anger building in the air, and the grip he has on my face tightens slightly. He takes a deep breath and so do I. I don't want him to hit me, but I won't let this slide.

"I've tried so hard, Bella, to make this work. I've done wrong, and I'll pay for my mistakes but I need you here with me. I don't think I can live without you. I'd kill myself."

"Stop it, Jake! Stop trying to manipulate me." I push him away, but he doesn't let me go.

"I'm not doing anything but telling you the truth. I'm nothing without you." He forces a rough kiss on me, and I'm not strong enough to break away from him. I relent, and let his tongue slide into my mouth, the same tongue not a half hour ago I had wished would move deeper inside me.

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><p>I try to picture how my life would have been if Edward had gotten his chance to propose. Would I have said yes? Would I have had any other choice? If then faced with having to make a decision between having to had marry Edward or relive Jacob kidnapping me would I have chosen the devil I had already known? Had Edward been the lesser of two evils? Or were both men incomparable, the sickness inside them unjustifiable by all means?<p>

Had Edward been more of a monster because he hid in plain daylight, like a wolf in sheep's clothing? Or was Jacob more of a beast because he wasn't ashamed? He embraced all that he was, claiming all the wrong he had done came from a place of love.

But was what either men felt for me considered love or mere obsession? Was I just a faceless girl who could be easily replaced with any of the same sex?

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><p>I struggled to keep the thoughts that kept surfacing, the ones where I envisioned everything he said he did, happening as if to someone else. I tried to distance myself, and ask what would I think if I heard of this happening to another girl. I couldn't let what I had grown to feel get in the way of what I perceived to be right and wrong.<p>

I listened to the sounds of his rustling around in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers, looking for a knife to slice through the cooked meat of the roasted chicken.

He had gotten me out of the basement before I could lay a hand on the wall of photographs. He could see in my eyes that I meant to destroy it, to rip and leave it bare. The sketch that I had kept clutched in my hand with a violent fist while he spoke found it's way into a drawer. He locked the basement, and hid the key when I turned my head. I planned to search the kitchen later, after dinner when he would be preoccupied with the horses in the stables.

I pulled the blanket he had found in the closet in our bedroom upstairs tighter around my body, tucking my feet underneath the far away hem. It still smelled like laundry detergent, and I found the familiar floral scent comforting in this moment of conflict.

Though the couch felt lumpy, and it was hard to find a comfortable groove to rest the base of my neck, I didn't dwell on it. Instead I decided to browse the limited channels on the television. I think I went through the list about five times before I saw him from the corner of my eye creep into the room with both our plates of dinner in hand.

I immediately sat up, and made space for him to sit. Though I wasn't speaking to him, and he felt my reluctance to even take my plate from his hand, I decided I was going to try to not be hostile in any way. It seemed it had never worked out for me in the end, anyway.

I bit the crisp skin of the chicken first, tearing it from the white meat, letting the heavily seasoned side sit on my tongue. I could feel the saliva building in my mouth from the delicious taste, and went in for a scoop of buttery mashed potatoes, letting the mound pick up some of the stuffing he had piled on the far end.

"Do you like it, sweetheart?" I nodded silently, putting as little emotion into the gesture as I possibly could.

"Good," he said. He balanced his plate in his right hand, reaching in with his left to stroke the back of my hair. I let his touch slip off me with little acknowledgment. I continued eating, and searched with my hand for the remote once more.

I decided on this old black and white film I'd seen plenty of times growing up. It was Alfred Hitchcock's _Psycho_, from 1960, just in time before Halloween. Vivien Crane had just gotten to the Bate's Motel, and I watched with dull eyes as Norman came out and helped her with her bags. The rain had came down hard, and even underneath the blanket that rested on my legs, I shivered, and continued eating.

A while later, I felt Jacob's eyes on me when Norman was just getting to the part where he said, "Don't we all go a little mad sometimes." I couldn't agree with him more as I held my fork tightly in my hand, my knuckles turning white with the strain of my grip.

"Are you finished?" I contemplated stabbing him, wondering what I would do after if I was successful. But I couldn't be so careless.

"Yeah, here." I surrendered my weapon against my will. I thought of plunging the metal deep into where his neck met his shoulder, but I too, like dinner had been, was a chicken.

There was so much tension coiled in my body that when he came back and tried to touch my shoulder softly with his hand, I cringed and slapped it away. "Bella," he whined.

"Leave me alone." I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, not even sparing him a glance when I decided to kick him as far as I could to get my legs back on the sofa and lay down.

"Are you really going to be like this?" He traced the arch of my foot, the one he had managed to catch in my attempt to hurt him. I didn't waste my breath for one more moment. If he was going to continue to bother me, I was just going to go upstairs.

I wrestled my cold foot from his hands, the blanket now wrapped around my shoulders, and ran up the steps. I slammed the door, wishing I had the ability to lock it without having the key. I shuffled into the dark room, and let my head hit the worn pillow on the right side. I heard him call something out from below, and wondered if he was angry. _Good, serves him right._

But as disgusted and horrified as I was, I still yearned for his arms to wrap around me and for him to comfort me. I started to cry while staring at the door of the bathroom, the white strained grey by the darkness of the room._ How did this end up becoming my life? Where along the way had I lost myself?_

I wipe stubbornly at the wet underneath my eyes, and ended up rubbing them vigorously, the exhaustion from the day finally getting to me after I had spent it all drowning in stress. It was in those moments of sleepy defeat that I felt the most alone in the world.

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><p>Some time after I wake up, I notice Jacob sitting on the floor. I don't realize at first that he's crying until I see that his shoulders are shaking. His legs are obscured by the edge of the doorway, his hands cover his face as his rough sobs begin to work through his chest. I know I shouldn't be seeing this, but I can't look away. I suck in a deep breath, stunned.<p>

His grief, his regret exists. It fills the torn spaces within me, where I know right from wrong and muddles them like spilt ink on a page. "Jake, come to bed." I know I've fucking lost it when he looks up like a broken little boy, and encourage him to come closer by patting the vacant space beside me. When he's near enough to dip his knee into the solid mattress, I nudge his head to my breast and hold him close. "Shh, calm down." I thread my fingers through his soft hair, and feel his lips tremble as he tries to control himself uselessly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't want for it to be this way. I wish I was what you wanted."

"I do want you, Jake. I do." There's a grain a truth in my words, and I close my eyes, realizing that I can't fight with myself anymore. It's no use, and by now, I can't believe I've held out this long.

He shakes and I try to hold him together with my arms. We're both broken beyond repair, but together, for reasons unknown, we've seen the darkest sides of one another but still long for moments like these. For moments when we love each other despite what says we shouldn't.

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><p><strong>AN: I know, THE ANGST. It hurt me too. While writing, I felt like I wasn't even controlling what was happening. I just kept typing, and I was just as surprised at what was in Jacob's basement like some of you must have been.**

**Finally before I go, I beg you to please post a review about how you feel about what's going on in the story. Any predictions? Should Bella just give in? How do you feel about hearing how Jacob went about taking Bella? I have some chapters mapped out, so I hope all goes as planned.**

**Until next time,**

**a nyr byrjun**


	7. Long & Lost

**A/N: Don't shoot! I know I haven't updated at all since the beginning of the year, but to be quite honest this semester really kicked my ass. Fortunately, I now have an Associates Degree in the Arts, (Liberal Arts and Sciences) and don't have to start classes for my Bachelor's Degree until late August. I have a couple of one-shots penned in my notebook to write, and I'll try my best to continue the stories I've already started such as this one. Without further ado, I give to you chapter 7. See you at the bottom. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. **

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><p>His crying seems to go on and become louder the longer I have my arms wrapped around him. I don't want him to go on but, but nevertheless Jacob's wet tears soak through my cotton shirt despite my hushed whisperings of comfort. Trembling, his body leans against mine seeking reassurance. He hiccups, his crying is so intense and again I think of him as a being a broken little boy. So vulnerable, and lost. "Calm down." I stroke his hair with my fingers, my nails trailing his scalp softly.<p>

He's kicked off his boots at my request, and tugged down his jeans to settle underneath the covers. His right arm rests over my ribs and I kiss his forehead when he comes close enough. He turns his head at my touch, still shy and unsure, his lips seeking mine hesitantly. I relent, holding his face, my kiss fierce and forgiving. I want to tell him everything I can't say. Words I won't let myself repeat to any other human being. His shaking stops gradually as he starts to finally relax in my embrace. My eyes close without my noticing, the deep etches of stress smoothing over with sleep. The fight is over, at least for now.

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><p>There are no words exchanged between us the next morning, instead in their place ashamed glances. His eyes reflect an emotion I take for as confusion as to what we're doing and what we are. I don't think to enlighten him as he watches me carefully, my stance, my eyes. It's not that I'm angry with him, but I can't seem to stop thinking about the polaroid's that rest beneath the floorboards of the kitchen, downstairs. It seems I'm doomed to sink deeper into the realization that he chose me, and I'd been the one thing on his mind for months, all while I was unaware of his very existence. I'm reliving and seeing my memories of the last few months before my kidnapping in a whole different light.<p>

When I don't meet his gaze, he listens to my breaths to see if I huff when he reaches to touch me. He finally builds up the courage to lace his fingers through mine after a few restless moments, and then the pad of his thumb starts to stroke down the middle of my palm. "Coffee, honey?"

His voice is rough, but unusually soft at the same time. I give him a quick nod, and he takes his hand away to reach to turn on the ancient coffee machine just underneath the cabinet above the sink. I hold my head in my hands, staring out the window of the front door. The suns rays reflect upon my face through the glass and create bright spots in my eyes. The warmth feels pleasant on my skin and I feel a pang of sadness that winter is going to be coming any day now. I don't take into account what it will mean for my search, instead turn to look at the pane of muscle that is Jacob's back. He moves with such certainty as he fixes my coffee, and even sprinkles a bit of cinnamon on top.

"Can we go outside today?" It doesn't escape me how ridiculous my life has become, that I have to ask someone else for permission to do anything, but I listen for his response nonetheless.

"If that's what you want." He turns back, visibly relieved that I've chosen to talk to him directly, and hands me a mug. The coffee is a light mocha color, and sweet to the taste. He remembered to put more cream than actually coffee, and sugar, lots of it. I moan it tastes so good, and he smiles gently, reaching to stroke my hair down my back. The tense atmosphere has gone away, and in it's place is something much more unknown.

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><p>As I search throughout the closet in our bedroom for something more appropriate than my nightgown to wear, I'm hyperaware of his presence behind me. He sits on the bed, dressed and lacing his worn black boots. He watches as I select a light cream long-sleeved shirt with a V-neck that is optional; buttons adorn the top front. I stand in only my baby pink panties and bra, but it feels as if I'm skinless underneath his heated gaze. I go on my knees to reach into the back of the closet floor for my shoes, he comes forward and presses his pelvis against my behind.<p>

"Jake," I pant as his rubs his fingers against the lace that separates the skin of his hand from the flesh of my pussy. He bites my shoulder, his teeth leaving a stinging sensation that turns my insides to goo. The imprint of his mark remains even long after he's pulled away.

I fight with myself as he comes even closer, his erection hard and almost angry beneath the fly of his jeans. I know he's going to tug down my panties at any moment, and I'm anxious for it until I feel a flash of nausea. This position resembles the one in which he took me, the backs of my thighs still blazing from his blows. I'm not ready. _I'm not ready. _His chest presses onto my back, and I have to hold myself up with my hands to keep myself from planting face first on the carpet. Tears begin to build in my eyes, and soon I can't make out the individual pieces of fabric that make up the carpet. I inhale and what comes out is a soft sob. "Not right now. Please."

He stills, and exhales a harsh breath and for a moment I don't think he'll have the strength, the resistance to pull away from me. I have no clue as to what I want him to do, but feel a sense of relief when he leans back on his legs, and keeps a steady hand on my back. "Okay, baby."

I quickly brush the tears from my eyes before he turns me around to look at him. I can't hide the tracks on my cheeks, and he holds my head to his chest, silently. His arms feel strong around me, and I find myself holding onto him tighter, so tightly I'm glad that it's a struggle to breathe. He holds me together, and grateful, I return his innocent embrace.

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><p>It turns out that I don't want to go outside anymore. Instead I detach my arms from his waist, and crawl into our unmade bed into rumpled sheets that feel cool and safe. The tears that marked my face only a few minutes before have dried on my skin, and my lips cease to tremble as they did. I offer up a, "Sorry. I don't want to do anything for a while. I hope you understand."<p>

"Of course." I can hear the inevitable thickness in his voice, and feel his eyes travel along the expanse of my back before I move to cover myself. He stands without his shirt on for a moment before he tugs the dark material over his head. The sleeves strain against the size of his arms, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see the muscle defined. A fearful spasm works through me before I work up the courage to call out his name, softly, before he retreats.

I watch him pick up his head from where it hangs with what I can only tell is defeat and an alertness registers in his eyes once more. "Maybe later we can go outside? In the afternoon?"

"Sure, sure honey. Just get some rest, and I'll come up for you then." His hand hover over the light switch before it comes down and the room is left a dim blue.

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><p>I don't close my eyes with the intention of falling asleep but that's what ends up happening. When I wake, I don't know how much time has passed only that it's been a considerable amount. The spaces between the shades in the windows are dark, and there is no mistake that night has fallen. A hand reaches out, and I let out a startled gasp before I realize that Jacob lays only a few inches from where I rest my head.<p>

"It's alright, baby. It's only me."

I swallow, finding my mouth dry before asking the question, "What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"I can't believe I slept the whole day." I wipe my face with my hand, and make a move to sit up to have him gently push on my shoulder for me to lay once more.

"Lay with me for a while." I let my head rest on my pillow, and try to distinguish his features in the darkness. The curve of his mouth is soft, and his eyes watch as his hand moves to hold my left breast in his palm. I flinch without meaning to, and he stills. I don't understand the sudden uneasiness I feel when he touches me. Wasn't it only a day ago I withered beneath his mouth, wanting more, needing more?

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, not brave enough to meet his stare. He nudges me beneath my chin, and makes a move to kiss me when I once again pull away.

An edge comes over his voice. "It's not nothing, Bella. Tell me the truth."

My voice wavers before I finally admit, "I'm afraid of you." He pauses, not expecting the nature of my confession before he responds in a desperate tone, "I don't want you to be."

"It's not that simple. I keep remembering that night." He doesn't need to specify just which night is in question. I watch as his gaze darkens and his jaw clenches. I know he's trying to rein himself in, but I think he's close to letting all hell break loose.

"I thought we were past this."

I choose my next words wisely, sensing the violence that's dying to crawl out from beneath his skin. "This isn't something you just get past. This stays with you. It's still with me. Everytime I see your face, feel you touch me, I want to die."

"You can't mean that, Bella. I know that you've grown to love me, I know you'd never do anything to hurt yourself to get away from me." His grip on my face tightens, and I watch the miniscule changes come over his face until I don't even recognize him anymore. His whole demeanor can shift in the blink of an eye, and I know if I'm not careful enough to agree with all he says, that there will be hell to pay.

"You're right. I'm sorry for being so foolish, I just haven't been feeling well is all." Slowly the hostility that is etched into his face dissipates. If there's any question as to whether or not he believes my bluff, I'm not sure until he hikes my leg around his waist, and nudges my face with his nose.

"I forgive you, Bella. I know I have a temper, but you should your best to avoid it. I hate to hear you throw around words without taking the chance to actually hear what you're saying." He kisses my nose, and neck before moving forward to once more take my lips. I breathe into our kiss as if I'm as consumed as he with passion, but am fully aware of the turning that continue to wreak havoc in my gut.

I can't help the whimper that escape my mouth, but try to save myself from it's true meaning. "I'm sorry I made you mad." I couldn't care less about how he feels, just that he buys my remorse and doesn't suspect anything is arise.

"Show me just how sorry you are." I nip at his lip with my teeth, drawing blood before moving to straddle him. The longer this continues, the sicker I become with myself. I must endure. I must endure if I want it all to end at my hand, instead of his.

It's not as easy as I thought it was going to be. He lifts my nightgown until it rides up my thighs, and my panties are in view. I grind down on him, feeling his erectin strain upward to push against the most intimate part of me. He relishes in my teasing, flames burning a fire in his eyes, until he decides it isn't enough to show my regret. Soon his fingers push and pull at the panty line until his fingers brush against my exposed clitoris. I will myself to become wet for him because if I don't, this would have all been for nothing.

Impatiently, he pulls down his zipper and briefs, exposing himself to my numb eyes. It should be easy to take him when he's taken me so brutally before, but as soon as he begins to push in, I know I'm not strong enough to remain conscious of this act.

I close my eyes as I ride him, willing it to be over soon. It's a mercy when he spills his seed inside me, and he lets me off him.

* * *

><p>He makes me a grilled-cheese sandwich, and lets me eat in our bed, though I know he despises the risk of feeling crumbs in the sheets. I eat not really tasting anything, but feel better when my stomach no longer feels as if it's eating itself. My insides feel raw when I cross my legs, but Jacob doesn't seem to notice my discomfort.<p>

Instead he busies himself with stroking my thigh, whilst resting his head on my abdomen. "Did you know that you've been smelling different?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, setting the plate on the bedside table. I hope he doesn't take it down to the kitchen. I imagine the plate breaking, pieces of sharp ceramic scattered on the floor, creating the perfect edges to split and tear into skin, into flesh if I so desired it.

Mine or his, I'm still not sure. "Your scent. It's not the same as when you came here." He stares up at me from his vantage point, eyes knowing and waiting for me to decipher his cryptic comments. I make a move to sniff at my arm, only to have him chuckle at the confused face I make.

"I don't understand."

"You will. Soon."

* * *

><p>The next morning I hover over the toilet bowl with my stomach turning. It can't mean what I think it means. <em>It can't. <em>I don't look at his face when he gives me a tight-lipped smile, as if daring me to acknowledge the information I now know. Instead wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand before reaching up and taking ahold of the sink to brush my teeth. His silhouette lives in the mirror, like a goblin that hides underneath a bridge waiting to terrorize any that pass. I stand helpless and in denial.

Crimson dots the edges of my vision. He walks out of the bathroom while I rinse my mouth, and when I hear his boots hit the stairs, I hide the disposable plastic clutched in my hands behind a row of books on my bookshelf.

* * *

><p>"Come with me."<p>

My uneasiness grows as he pulls up out of bed roughly, where I've been moping for several hours. He doesn't care that I trip over the covers that have fallen to the floor, his hand tightly gripping my left one until it feels like my arm will fall out of it's socket if I don't try to catch up. He takes me to the basement, and I almost don't process the stairs as I struggle to not fall as we descend downward into it's dank depths.

He seats me at his desk, knowing I won't lift a finger to touch anything that only a few days ago, I would have gladly destroyed. He comes back with a photo album that's covered in dust, and whose exterior has darkened over time. I hold my belly unconsciously until he roughly sets the book into my lap, turning to a page that holds a picture of two children.

"Who's that?" I ask, pointing with my finger at the dark-haired girl who stands with her arms wrapped around his waist in the worn photograph. The edges are bent, and the film looks to have been scratched at some point, but I'd recognize him anywhere.

Jacob looks much younger here, his face much more soft looking, the hard lines that now reside looming on the horizon of time. "That's my older sister, Rachel." Now that I look closer, it makes sense. Their features resemble one another's to a T, russet skin and inky hair in tow.

"What happened to her?" I'm almost afraid to ask.

"Married. She lives in Hawaii now. Sometimes she writes, but we don't talk much anymore. She's busy trying to make a family."

"Kids?"

"Yeah, in her last letter she told me I was going to be an uncle. She's probably four months along now into her pregnancy."

"Do you miss her?" He stares at the photograph, his eyes never leaving her pubescent face.

"We had to learn how to grow up real fast. I think we fought more often than we got along," as he says this, he looks so far away, as if he's living in his memories and not really sitting next to me in the basement, the only light reflecting in our eyes coming from the lamp that sits on his desk. "But she was always there for me."

I turn to the next page in the photo album to find a photograph of Jacob's father standing before he was limited to a wheelchair. "How'd he take it when he couldn't walk anymore?"

I gesture to the look of happiness in his eyes as he reaches to catch Jacob in his arms, after what it looks he was thrown into the air. He appears to have been maybe five in the picture.

"He was angry at God for a real long time, and at us. As if it were our fault. There were days when he refused to come out of his room to talk to anyone. It didn't help that we lived so far out so Rachel had to take a lot of the responsibility for the both of us. I didn't know what to, and Rachel, she was a splitting image of our mother." Though he reveals much more than I thought he would, I can tell he's holding back something as I watch his hand turn into a fist before it relaxes against his thigh once more.

"She died right before, your mother?"

"They said it was a car crash, but I don't buy it. I think she knew what she was doing when she turned that wheel. She wanted a way out of our life, and she took it."

"You're saying you think she killed herself?" He knows. _Oh god. _I try to keep my face expressionless, but it's useless.

"There were a lot of things my dad did that I don't think a lot of people could have took. When he couldn't walk, it was like a mercy. It limited how he could hurt us, but I think Rachel was already too far gone." He pauses for a moment, and I try desperately to understand what's he's said so far.

"What do you mean?" I reach to hold his hand, and return his bruising grip when his fingers welcome mine. _Fool him. Fool him._

"It wasn't a horse who killed our father." I still, and meet his eyes hesitantly. He nods, he knows I don't have the guts to ask the question that rings in my mind. "I helped her if you were wondering."

"Did he deserve it?"

"Yes." For once, I've lost the will to say anything. I don't think I can. I feel a flash of fear before it fades, and dare to glance at his face. Killer, rapist, kidnapper. That's what a cop would limit his crimes to, define Jacob as, but it's all so much more complicated.

"Then why do you do the things you do if you thought he deserved to die?"

"I don't know, Bella. Sometimes I think I should be dead too, but it's like I can't help myself. I don't mean to be this way, to hurt you," his eyes glisten, "But I don't know any other way to be. I try so hard when I'm with you, that when I fuck up, I blame it on you."

I stroke his hand that rests in my lap, unsure as to what I'm feeling and only look up when he nudges my face with his, "I want to make you happy, baby. Please, let me." He takes a pause, before he utters the words that completely render me speechless, "Don't you even think about doing what you were gonna do. I found the blade that was missing from my razor this morning."

I swallow, I can't fuck this up. "What blade?"

His hand comes to wrap around my throat loosely, but the threat is there, loud and clear. "Am I really that horrible that you don't want to have a baby with me?" I don't answer, and that seems to anger him more than if I would have answered honestly, without hesitation. "You're a coward, just like my mother. Do you know that? _Do you know that?"_ He shouts. "After everything we've been through together, this is where you break. I thought you were stronger than this, Bella. I guess I'm just going to have to see you through this. For you, and for our baby."

* * *

><p>My wrists burn as he pulls the rope tighter, and secures the knot to the headboard. "I can't have you hurting yourself, I love you too much to let you go." I cry without sound. There's nothing that I can do. Nothing he'll let me do to escape having a baby that's a product of rape. I've lost any chance at a normal life, forever.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Um, so that happened. To be truthfully honest, I rewrote this chapter several times before I was so displeased with how it was going. The final product ran away from me, and though it totally challenges the several other chapters I have mapped out, it was the most realistic scenario that could have happened. Please leave a review telling me how you feel about this turn of events. They'll get you chapter 8 much faster ;)**


	8. Freight Train

**A/N: So I guess you weren't expecting an update so soon? Well here it is anyway. I want to thank all those who left a review for the last chapter, you really keep me going! I know that the last chapter was harsh for some of you to read, but I'm afraid to say that this story is going to get worse before it gets better. Forgive me. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Note: Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.**

* * *

><p>The skin of my wrists burn raw. I know there's no use, that I won't somehow magically free myself if I pull at the ropes, but I can't just lay here. I can't just give up, though I have so many times before.<p>

His words hurt me._ A coward._ That's what he'd said I was, and I suppose he's right. It was wrong to think that the only way out was death. I should have fought harder, should have accepted my fate and dealt with it. But to lay with this baby growing inside me, I don't think there's anything worse.

I know I'm fairly early into my pregnancy, but it's as I feel _it _moving inside me already. It's not that I'd always had such an aversion to becoming a mother, but to have my rapist's child is another thing entirely. I've heard of such horror stories before, but I had never thought in my wildest dreams that I would have been one of those unfortunate women whom would have to face their child with resentment for what their father had done.

It's as if I can't cry anymore, my eyes have given up their struggle. I stare at the ceiling for what feels like hours in the same position. He even tied my feet to the bottom bedposts. I can't move for the life of me, and if I do, the ropes just get tighter.

I tense every time I sense movement outside of the bedroom door. Jacob can't stand the sight of me, and for that I'm grateful. I'd rather been alone in this time of suffering than having to listen to him talk about how he loves me, and how happy he is that he's going to be a father. Or chastise me for planning to take my life. Even I can't believe how close I came to it, the only thing stopping me was my own cowardice. In that one aspect Jacob was right. I was a coward. But not because I wanted to die, but because I was too afraid of the unknown, of the finality of it all.

Before it had felt as if I lost everything but it seemed even he had taken my future before it was even set to pass.

And our child. It wouldn't ever have a happy life. It probably come out to be as psychopathic as Jacob, and if not would inevitably turn out to be one being raised by him. Truly I'd been looking out for the both of us though Jacob didn't look at it that way. I didn't want to hate it either.

I think I pass out once more from the stress on my body, and by the fact that he hasn't feed me for over a day. If he was so concerned for this baby, he would be feeding me right now, but I think the only reason he even wants it is to control me body and soul. He knows I'd never go back to my normal life like this if I was to be found.

My throat is scratchy when I try to swallow, and I don't even have a voice to call out for him. I learned after the first few days of being left here to rot that screaming wasn't going to do anything, wasn't going to let him see reason.

His moods have never lasted as long as this one has. I think I pushed him far over the edge than I could have ever anticipated. The first night, he had sat at my bedside with tears streaming down his face, sobs whacking through his body, begging me to tell him why I would ever do such a thing.

He'd said, "I didn't ever think you could be capable of being so selfish, Bella. It could have all been so different. I know the rope hurts, but let it. It's better than being dead. Anything's better than that. You should think to remember that." I had thought death would have been a mercy, but the very thought, the tempting face of it had only trapped me further.

The second night he had stormed in and slapped me across the face. The blow had been so severe, that my face had stayed inflamed for hours, and the swelling hadn't gone down until he gave in and held an ice-pack to my face. I had tried to say something to him then, the first words I had uttered since the night in the basement when he had held up a hand as if to say that words couldn't change anything. The damage had been done.

This was the third day if I was correct, but it was so hard to know when every time I opened my eyes, it seemed a considerable amount of time had passed without my very knowledge. Was this how I would live out my pregnancy? Tied to a bed, and so disoriented that I couldn't even tell the day?

I was sure he was coming in when I was sleeping to inject something in my arm. I'd noticed a pain near my forearm that couldn't be due to the pulling. It'd only intensified after what I suspected was another injection. Was it something to make me sleep, was it his version of mercy?

I hoped as much. Every time I woke once more, the layer of sweat that sat on my skin felt worse. I hadn't bathed since this whole ordeal had started, and I could tell my hair was matted behind my head from moving it side to side at the tiniest hint of noise.

My bladder hurt so badly the first night while I had tried to hold in my urine, but he refused to untie the ropes. I had pissed the bed, and the stench had only become worse. Where the water was coming from, I had no clue. This was my humiliation. This was justice in his eyes for my crimes.

When he finally came to free me, and cut the ropes I thought I was hallucinating. I watched him with dry eyes as his fingers came around to pull at my clothes, and lift me from the bed. He'd hooked my arm around his shoulders and guided me to the bathroom where he had filled the tub with steaming water.

Weak, he had taken it to himself to bathe me, washing between my legs without so much as a hint of sexual interest. If he was bothered by the hair that had grown on my legs, he didn't say a word. Neither about the hair that had grown on my most intimate of areas. There was no way he'd ever allow me near a razor again, unless he was the one who welded it.

I found myself quiet and pliable underneath his will, and listened to him as he told me to sit in the far corner of the room, huddled in my bathrobe, skin still bare. I leaned my head full of wet hair against the wall as he stripped the bed entirely, disinfecting and deodorizing the mattress.

Finally in the moment, I watch as he throws the soiled sheets into the hallway. He washes his hands before looking through the closet for something for me to wear. He comes back with another soft, white nightgown that comes to rest on my knees. He helps me into it, after taking the bathrobe to ruffle my still wet hair until it was considerably dry.

"Are you hungry?" I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. My wrists are chaffed beyond recognition, and hurt even more when he moves forward to inspect them. "It was no use struggling, Bella. I freed you in my own time."

"I know." My words are no more louder than a whisper, than a secret being told. I brush back my hair when it gets in my face, and follow him downstairs to sit at the table. Only one week ago, everything had been so different. There was so much hope. Now even the view outside looks dreary, though the sun shines through the window. My stomach growls, and clenches as I watch him flip over a couple of over easy eggs in a non-stick skillet. I'd do anything just to eat, even if it's only for a couple of eggs and a set of toast.

He knew just how to break me. All it took was a few days tied up, and being treated like a real prisoner to get me to sit across from him as he eats without contemplating murder or suicide.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" He sips his orange juice as he gauges my face for a reaction to his question. I wonder if he finds what he's looking for.

"Yes. I'm sorry for what I did. For what I was going to do."

"And will you try again?"

"No."

* * *

><p>It's incredible what a meal can do to a person after they've been starved. It's like I'm hungry for everything. Hungry to please him, and to make sure I do nothing wrong that could lead once more to an even worse punishment. My survival instincts have finally kicked in, and now I know that it's better to be miserable in silence than dead and god knows where.<p>

* * *

><p>"You should rest, Bella." He says as he takes my hand and starts to lead me upstairs. I immediately stop walking, and try to pull him closer to me, away from the staircase.<p>

"I don't want to rest anymore. Please." One more day in that bed, and I'll lose my mind. I'm sure of it. He senses my distress, and tries once more to pull me with him. I haven't run out of tears, no matter how many I've cried in this place. They leak from the brims of my eyes, and my lip trembles.

"Please," I start to beg. He's going to tie me up again, and I'll lose even more time. "Not again. I said I was sorry!"

"You will be." I push my weight against my feet on the floor, but it's no match for his strength as he drags me forward.

"No! Please, oh god!" My dignity is torn to shreds, but I don't even notice it. I should have known that this was all a ruse to get me comfortable before taking it away. He has all the power, and I don't. _I don't. _This is what I get for making him feel powerless.

A few days won't teach me my lesson. I fall to my knees, and clutch at his legs, burying my face in the fabric of his jeans. I shake violently, inaudible mutterings streaming from my lips. There must be something I can say to make him know just how sorry I am. How truly sorry.

"I was scared! I was so, so scared Jacob! I'm scared now of what you're doing. I promise I'll never take you for granted again."

"Show me." Those same words stop me in my tracks. If it's sex that he wants, I can give it to him. I'll give him anything. I can't be reduced to being an animal again.

As I look up into his eyes from my knees, I silently plead with my eyes for him to give me a chance. He gives it to me when he brushes the tears from my face with the gentlest of touches from his fingertips. He strokes my mouth, and I kiss his palm as he holds my cheek. "You'd do anything for me to forgive you, wouldn't you?"

I nod earnestly, while holding onto his wrist. He weaves his hand into my soft, clean hair before moving the bulge in his pants closer to my face. "Jake I-"

"Do you want to go upstairs again?" I shake my head, tears anew in my eyes. "Then kiss me."

I know he's not referring to his lips as I reach to unbuckle his leather belt, and slide down his zipper. He nudges his cock that's still covered to my mouth, and I realize he wants this to last. He toys with me, and I breathe heavily, the warmth of my breath emitting through the fabric of his briefs. He sighs as he looks down at me, and gives me a slight nod as if to say go on.

I pull down his underwear, and look back up into his eyes, willing for him to sense how wrong this all is. He doesn't. He challenges me to move away, but I won't no matter how badly I want to. I kiss his mushroom head before licking it. Working up as much courage as I can, I take his head into my mouth, and breathe through my nose to chase away the nauseous feeling in my gut.

The eggs turn in my stomach as I take more of him into my mouth, the underside of his cock pulsing with need on my tongue. What I can't fit into my mouth, I take into my right hand, and pump him, wanting it to be over.

He stares down at me with lust, but with also with a look of smugness. He violates my mouth without remorse, even going so far as to thrust into my mouth, holding my head so that it feels as if I'm choking on him.

I don't know how he can be aroused by the blubbering sight of me, but he finishes, taking hold of my left breast in his palm to tweak the nipple that pokes through. A hot flush of warmth radiates between my legs, but that only makes me cry harder as I kneel before him, waiting for him to do something to break this silence that has come over us.

He holds out his hand to me. I take it, and move into a standing position. I'm nervous for a moment that he'll go back on his word, but he doesn't as he leads me to the basement. I don't know what's worse. This place or pissing on myself upstairs.

The last time I was down here, he brought me to show me that I thought I had it bad when it could all turn out much worse. He's not afraid to torture or even kill to get his way, even if it's to someone he loves. Even if that someone is me, the person he's risked everything for, the one whom he's taken to himself to learn and control everything about.

"Jake?" He doesn't feel the need to answer me or put my nerves to rest. My throat is starting to feel sore, but the pain is nothing compared to the uncertainty I feel.

From the way the couch at the bottom of the stairs is in a state of disarray, it's safe to say that this is where he's been sleeping. I doubt my screaming bothered him all the way down here. It was a waste of breath, and took energy I could have saved trying to get the ropes looser.

He guides me to lay on the various pillows that cover the faded cushions, and seats himself at his desk. I'm about ask what he's looking for in his drawer, but I get my answer when he sets down a pair of handcuffs near his torn up sketchbook. I don't say a word, but instantly understand his message. If I behave, and comply, they'll be no reason to restrain me. I control what is done to me with my actions.

* * *

><p>I listen as charcoal is run across a page. He rubs his thumb, smudging the lines he's created, and I don't move. I know he's drawing my face; he keeps looking back into my eyes. I wonder what I look like. Just what expression I wear in his drawing. If I look as fearful and unsure as I feel. If my lips are as bruised and swollen as I know they are.<p>

What if he's just buying time before he hurts me once again? I don't think I can take another moment where I'm forced to please him sexually, and be reminded of what we once had, what was so effortless between us, so misguided that it felt right.

I can't believe I was as delusional to think that there could have been something between us, and for it to be reduced to this, I don't even know what to say. It almost feels like a betrayal. But I guess that was what he saw my attempt days ago as well. I understand him, on a sick and twisted level. So what does that say about me, and what I've become? I try not the think while he watches me. I don't want him to see where my thoughts have inevitably taken me.

"Why is it that you felt you couldn't trust me? Before? When that man came, I didn't choose to leave you. I could have." His hand stops moving, the pencil's point breaking from the pressure he puts on it.

A dark cast comes over his face before he speaks. "If you would as so much as tried, you would have had his blood on your hands."

"When you left that night, I was so scared. I thought something had happened to you. I had to do whatever I had to do. And I never held what you did to me against you until that night. Not even after the first time." Tears stream down my face, and he's as silent as ever. "Do you know how hard it was to forgive you? How hard it was even to look at you, after what you did?"

"You had to. You know that."

"I didn't do it for you. And this time, I won't either." He finally looks up at me, as if really seeing me for the first time. He couldn't have ever guessed this outcome, and my words, even to my ears feel like lies. But this time, they aren't. "I thought maybe that you had changed, that you were finally trying. But all you do is get worse."

"Bella, you tried to kill yourself. You tried to kill our baby." I shake my head. He has it all wrong. It wasn't death I had sought. It was just an end, wherever that took me, I was ready to go. "I think it's time for you to go upstairs."

This time I don't struggle, even though I know he won't come back for me for another few days. I have a lesson to learn, and I doubt he thinks it can be learned from only one bout of punishment.

I still when he doesn't go for the ropes, but reaches behind him to pull out the pair of handcuffs from the back pocket of his jeans. He grabs my left hand roughly, and before I know it, the metal tightens and it's locked around me. Only he doesn't attach the other half to the bedpost, but to his wrist. "Jacob?"

"If you so much as try to doing anything, I'll know it. Now come on." He tugs me forward, and I feel the bite of metal on my skin.

* * *

><p>If I had thought it couldn't have gotten any worse, I was wrong. Laying with my arm cuffed to his, I am aware of every movement he makes. Several times I have eluded his touch, but this time, he pulls my hand where from where I've been trying to put as much distance between our bodies and hands. Awkwardly, he tries to lace his fingers through me, and I try my best to leave my grip limp.<p>

Staring blankly at the ceiling, I try to imagine that I'm not really attached to the psychopath that lies only inches from me. That I'm really back at home, avoiding texts and phone calls from Edward while I'm curled up in bed, reading _Wuthering Heights_. Charlie'd be coming home soon, and I'd do my best not forget that I'd have to finally put dinner in the oven. Lasagna had always been Charlie's favorite, and really it had been easy to make it as soon as I came home and then just chuck it in there just before I saw the cruiser's lights flash through the front window.

How I'd hated my life then, for so many different reasons. I'd never thought that I'd long for it now. Wish I was there, no matter what I had had to deal with. It was nothing compared to this misery, this suffering. This hell. And now because of Jacob's selfishness, I'd be bringing another to join me. Was it wrong of me to hope that there'd be complications? Complications that could result in the death of my child? Did this too, like Jacob's ruthlessness, come from love?

Did I love _it? _Was I even capable of love anymore? I didn't think so. If love even existed, all it did was twist and ruin everything in it's path. I'd only been one of the many speed bumps it had run over, careless as to the damage it could cause with its impact.

I should have realized sooner what would happen. After what Edward had did, I'd been scared that the next time he'd find a chance to corner me that he would finally take what he had wanted the most. My virginity. Telling Charlie my periods had become unbearable, he had taken me to no one other than Carlisle Cullen himself. The smug smile he had worn while getting the needle ready told me one thing, that he thought his son had finally broken me down until I finally given in to his will. He couldn't have been more wrong.

The birth control shot was to have lasted for six months before I would need another. Here it felt as if time didn't exist, days no longer held meaning. The structure I lived by was surviving each traumatic event after another. I didn't know if the shot had taken it's course throughout my body, but it seemed to be the most logical thing that could have happened. Whatever it was, it kept me safe no longer.

I wondered if Jacob had found it peculiar I hadn't gotten pregnant sooner, if he thought me to barren or if he had already known about the shot in the first place. It didn't matter anymore, I concluded. He already owned me, only now he did so from the inside out.

Soft breaths sound from next to my ear. He lay, his mouth slightly open, his grip on my hand beginning to loosen. Moving carefully as to not wake him, I take my fingers back from his and wiggle them slightly. I watch his face for any sign that he is awake when I see that his eyes are moving rapidly beneath his lids. He was in the first stage of sleep, the shortest. I would have to do my best not to move. I'd already had enough of him for one day.

He jerks a few moments later when I start to close my own eyes. His eyes open, glazed over with exhaustion before they shut once more. He shifts his legs, and it is then that I finally become aware of the dark circles under his eyes. Maybe he had heard my screams after all. As I continue to stare I see that the hard edge of his mouth has settled, and relaxed. In sleep he no longer resembled a monster, but if he was, it was one that was dead to the world. If only for a little while.

I could pretend he wasn't the same person, the only person I had ever thought truly loved me, as the one who had stripped away my flesh until I was a hollow mess of things.

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><p><strong>AN: This is where I leave you until next time. Please leave me a review about how you feel about everything that's happened so far. Everything I plan to write keeps shifting around in my head, and I'm trying to fit everything I want to happen while not dragging it out too much. So bear with me if you have to wait long for the next chapter.**


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